Turn Tears To Wine, To Remember It All Again

Turn Tears To Wine, To Remember It All Again

 

Clap your hands along the bay-blue brick path,

Lined in pure white cobblestone hexagonal runes.

We’re here to enjoy the Ides Of March,

Drink a lot, smoke a bit, share what’s left in laughs.

 

We’re nostalgic, I love you-

The radio’s whistling Miles Davis.

Cheers to silver memories,

Wasting in the dark, sealed inside a tomb.

 

I’m ascending away in a red, white, and blue pin-striped plane.

Seated With the ones wanting escape,

The plane remains silent, ‘cept for a cough,

From a tip-topped Uncle Sam who revels in making it rain.

 

We’ve become simplistic, I don’t know you-

I’d turn tears to wine, Just to remember it all again.

The radio doesn’t bump anymore,

It fritters, then weeps, and turns into The Blues.

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