::THESE DAYS:: I sit back in my tomb, this room, with a view of the starlit night on a sunlit day A cloud passes by to say hi to the sun, kissin' and wishin' that it could be a another one Another cloud in the sky to pass by the sun and spout "Hello"'s and "Good day"'s with each passing run. These days are getting shorter, but my days are getting long The harder it feels to sit down and write a song, or draw a painting on this canvas made of turpentine and dust I'll brush it away for another day when the clouds will pass me by, sayin' hello to the snow as they drop it from the sky, as if to lose another part of themselves, another piece of fluff that leaves me shaking and aching in the coolness of winters rough I feel my bones begin to break under the intensity of ice as if they froze together encased in glass being forced upon by a vice These days are getting slower and the nights are growing weary Looking at these pictures always makes me teary eyes seem to watch my every single pace as if this place is a space from which they cannot vacate I feel my teeth begin to chatter, cracking from the cold These days are getting shorter, and I am growing old. These days I have no loved ones, no one to call my own except this shakey house, maybe a mouse that dwells inside my home. I feel myself become a statuette of my former self the image that it shows, it glows, as it's put upon a shelf These days, the eyes they watch me as they pass on by my tomb this tomb I call a room with a view of the starlit night on a sunlit day These days the clouds still pass by my room, but I am old and gray therefore I cannot oblige them as they wave and say "Good day".
