"it was a fine idea at the time. now it's a brilliant mistake" elvis costello
it's friday the 13th sitting in my car beneath the glen oaks carport
the space is #280 and there's a millionaire somewhere with a million such spaces belonging to him
where poor poets dream their dreams in ink and paper on borrowed time and beyond him
a billionaire that owns his million dollar space and so on and so forth until we reach
the Owner of all things; and my pockets are empty and my heart is an empty bottle
filled with the memories of all the dreams i once dreamed and although the hope persists it's been
replaced with a wistfulness that the decisions i made perhaps could have been weighed
more carefully. O the dreams, God would that I could have sprouted wings to reach you
but nothing more than a dreamer have i been. and lets be honest a dreamer must wake up
eventually and the desire that remains is that the truth will be better to face
than the dream of truth i once had when i was young and believed the truth
could be had by one such as me
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