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letra de nights and weekends - skech185

did i get drunk to write this? i fell in love with a blurry face again
the only time i envied a drinking glass. sinking into a book
at a bar top three deep. thinking back, all of that kismet was a trap winking at me
linking discussion of rum, like a sword fight for dollars, to validations and haircuts
that is how life pairs us. in here i’m a hero accessory spending nights and weekends making others more distinguished
a disembodied voice in a wall of sound until 5 am makes me a person
trained to be an old hand to new danger. an old man in the face of old enough
yes, i did watch you walk to the washroom. beyond natural under edison bulbs and reclaimed wood
a thousand hangovers disguisеd as a door frame. someone saw you talking to a yawning sky likе a roommate
thus tuesdays will always be stranger than fiction. i declare war on the weekend after proclaiming it was over rated to whomever would listen
as on does
i think i have tomorrow off. yeah, the album is almost done
yeah, these are my homies. i’m not on tour with them because i’m here with you
saving, i mean stacking, i mean grinding. she is asking for her check now. the goodbye was too sincere. standing issue at this point
yeah i got it on vinyl. i hate the mixology title. green, not yellow stupid. somehow it amounts to survival. not sure what it does for the movement

“you were meant to see the amount you were meant to see” says the blood to the morning p-ss
another day in the office. a woman laying alone
a summer sent to sea
weekend by the creases in her smile. i’m an incidental stoic
in search of neither saint nor trophy. i paint my days with other people’s lives
too many nights and weekends of rehe-rs-d eye contact with other people’s wives
conducting other people’s l-st. the funerals when? so you say you’re a 5 minute walk away? you still up? next step is s-x so so vexing. accepting flesh
you chose these lessons
and fireworks. getting choked up and teary eyed because that’s how fire works
castle broken down, now they just stand. they don’t dance no more, they just stand
no more stable ground, just quicksand. again, citizens sifting through people on their way to work
a world away from worth. as day gave birth to day of work they jerk their frames awake
the scene ends…
and one day she’ll come in with a new partner, better suited, seated perfectly in view
and he’ll play the familiar stranger
suggesting her favorite drink for the first time
and they’ll take his bathroom break to ask questions to show they did care and it did matter
and they’ve been there but time matters. and now he shakes their hands, tells them to be safe
excusing himself for fresh air. a drunk regular gets in his face, noting he doesn’t look like the normal him
he tells him “the average person has 5 nights off. i have 2. the average person has 2 days off. i have 2
most often filling in the blanks with holding patterns and toxic people
so common it presents itself as formal. i had viewed her life through photography and saw places, mistakes and people
scattered as a well lived one could afford to
then we saw mine
that day? i was at work. that moment? i was at work
good photography can pull poetry out of monotony
i wore that insecurity like an armor and, so here we are.”
the regular walks away and our hero stands there stares at the streaking stars
praying the tears are mistaken as sweat, wipes his face and shakes a buddy’s hand
straightens his posture and returns to finish his dance
because the rents due

- skech185

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