11 February 2009

deanna prall

The Pusher

Guilt and inspiration are both the same to me,
Hitting me in the form of cold chills,
And about four moths of guilty memories.
I can’t help but think about
The one who started all of this,
The one who picked me out of a busy store window,
And lured me in with a concert ticket

That was the very first night
It all felt so right,
So I went with it.
And now I’m making him famous
And he doesn’t even realize it.
Everyone wants to know
Who that guy, with the special baggie is;
They want to know who put me in this hospital bed.

But he needs not to worry
He’s my sweetest enemy
I will not blow his cover
He’s the one who inspired this pain,
that finally set me free.

These Streets

Moments stand out in this chaotic city-
Golden moments where musicians strum
While I'm flipping through the pages of
A dusty old book in an antique shop

Noise and poverty rest outside
In their usual places
While homeless preserve leftovers from
A Dumpster in the corner of the alley

I light a cigarette and smile
At addicted ones standing next to me
We're all happy here
Amongst the chaos of the city

No comments: