Lost in you

I got paid and I was on my way,
169 miles southwest of where I lived,
few stops, smokes with strangers,
no shotgun, just a guitar on front seat,
sooner or later I knew you’d come,
burn my heart with your setting sun,
deflower me with leaves from your cherry tree,
oh how good it feels to be free.

they said I couldn’t be with ya,
you said you’d let me down,
3 cigarettes to ash my fear away,
one white, one green and one brown,
let me whisper in your ear,
and tell you how far from perfect you are my dear,
who cares when our hearts already sinned,
there’s no point in holding it in.

red, black and the blues

I met a little gypsy
in a fortune-telling place
she read my mind
and then she slapped my face.

if it wasn’t
for bad luck
I wouldn’t have no luck at all
I’ve been down
so long
it feels like up to me after all.

I saw a broom drearily
sweeping up
the broken pieces of yesterday’s life
a queen is weeping
somewhere a king has no wife.

when she’s sad
she comes to me
a thousand smiles, I give to her for free
its alright
I say its alright
take anything you want from me.

I tried to give her
when her old man had let her down
like a fool, I fell in love
with her,
turned my whole world upside down.

I’m not gonna give up
on love
love’s not gonna give up on me
every tear I cried
only washed away the fear inside
it’s not hard, can’t you see?

I’ll wait
in this place
where the sun never shines
in this place
where my shadow runs from mine.

but when
my earthly trails
are over
carry my body out in the sea
save all the
mortician bills
and let the mermaids flirt with me.


some days I want to
fly to California
with an aching in my heart
like Jimmy Page
singing on his acoustic
in the rain
but when the sun is bursting with love

that feeling only lasts for a day or two
a masturbatory moment
of ecstasy
then I crawl under the dark bridge
where the rock fusion rolling stones
set up in the corner
and rehearse

that sad sad song
melancholy drums and woeful guitar
brings me down
down down down

to swim in that blue stream
of broken notes and keys
that sound like fragments
of a guitarist mind.


once in a while
i pick up
and blow away the dust
off the wooden
that those 6 strings

its another world
with different sounds
singing, creating
moods and colors
of life
which words can’t.

a tweak
here and there
once in a while
a tap
picking up strings
fingers flirting
soul dancing
mind together
at one place.

its all fine.

i blow the dust
but in the end
i’m blown