Your palms are drawing
|
in the solitude of four walls
|
I read the question in that drawing
|
why do you live abandoned
|
after all, the eyes of all girls shine
|
a girl's halo
|
why don't you make it
|
to give her face on the altar.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
Trust me pension blues is better
|
than the convenience of all railroads
|
I think every major station
|
swallows you like nothing
|
and you had no idea about it
|
that the station is very hungry
|
you thought he was just hiding a secret
|
which do not let the trains sleep.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
Only Mr. Shakespeare knew you once upon a time
|
your love, loneliness and fear
|
and maybe he knew the guesthouse too
|
and your window and the dust on it
|
so you would like to report it to him
|
the shortest of all messages here
|
but the post office was closed today
|
and so the telegraph was silent.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
The divorce was not your fault
|
if guilt means anything
|
when someone else is sitting in your chair now
|
and does not know your wishes lost |
he only hears the radio of the night
|
in the hold of your dreams
|
his wife is still slim in the hips
|
I look back at her too.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
Then it went downhill fast
|
you would drink even the stars if there was alcohol in them
|
offer me a ram instead of a son
|
so many people were in the streets
|
and no one knew the way back
|
everything was for the last time
|
and only the guesthouse opened its arms
|
and offered you a new world.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
The newlyweds lie quietly in it
|
next door in the room dreaming
|
their witness is drunk
|
he really wanted to sleep with her
|
and you, you would like the same
|
you envy them so much
|
that you tear the book of poems to pieces
|
and then you eat it hungrily.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
Someone is throwing your first love essays at you
|
where did he take them
|
only a few leaves are still missing
|
the ones you didn't write
|
like distant galaxies
|
we pass each other on the stairs
|
who knows how someone lives
|
when he loses strength, feeling, and breath.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins |
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
Don't ask for more than you can handle
|
take your time, there is nowhere to go
|
before your hair turns gray
|
you will find a gem in the coal
|
you will find a letter in an empty mailbox
|
with an accurate map to happiness
|
it's in your heart like a bank
|
and you can get him only by trickery.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me.
|
Oh mother, why does everything end what it begins
|
who knows and knows better
|
than boarding house blues and me. |