The Lovesong Writer

Sitting alone in the dark of the stadium, He whispers his secrets into a cheap guitar. With the flick of his wrists he turns words into melodies, Chords into church bells, fill up the alleys. Lovers entwine in the heat of the night, And I don't have a part in the shivering silences. We will pretend that it's all just made up. The song that he writes, Are too personal he can't play them for anyone. And when he's all alone, The love song writer sings. Oh, can anyone hear me now? But no one hears at all. So he stumbles through syllables cut from their sentences, Lost what was called to him deep in the alphabet; Please give us meaning. (And work for me now) You're the broken heart You're the sigh in the back of the throat. And on the other side, You're the queen of spades You're the town that he meets on the way. There's always a way out. There's always a way out. And he's all alone, The love song writer sings. Oh, can anyone hear me now? But no one hears at all. The love song writer sings, All alone when he hears the song, Of the knock at the door. Face me red roses, falling apart. In the house of someone that you strengthen and left behind. Your love is so pure tearing your down. They say, Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now --- The Lovesong Writer - Thursday