Mr. Saga

Alla inlägg den 1 november 2009

Av saga - 1 november 2009 20:43

det var ju tråkigt förstås. snart är det vinter, lika oundvikligt som att solen gick ner redan för fyra timmar och inte kommer gå upp igen förrän om närmare tio-elva timmar. if i could do just one near perfect thing i'd be happy eller inte. jag är nog den bittraste jag vet i hela världen. jag har lärt av de bästa. har jag nog. jag skulle vilja bli kär på något vis, men realist som jag är vet jag att det inte kommer hända. det krävs ett smärre ett mirakel för att jag ska sväva på rosa moln och vara a jealous crazy stalkerbitch och fnittra och allt vad man gör.

jag känner mig som hundra år gammal JAG VILL VARA 13. nej det vill jag inte, det vill jag minst av allt. hej :D

Av saga - 1 november 2009 20:38

Elope with me Miss Private and we’ll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping round on pagan holidays?
Oh elope with me in private and we’ll set something ablaze
A trail for the devil to erase
San Francisco’s calling us, the Giants and Mets will play
Piazza, New York catcher, are you straight or are you gay?
We hung about the stadium, we’ve got no place to stay
We hung about the tenderloin and tenderly you tell
About the saddest book you ever read
It always makes you cry
The statue’s crying too and well he may.

I love you I’ve a drowning grip on your adoring face
I love you my responsibility has found a place
Beside you and strong warnings in the guise of gentle words
Come wave upon me from the family why not that's absurd
“You’ll take care of her, I know it, you will do a better job”
Maybe, but not what she deserves
Elope with me Miss Private and we’ll drink ourselves awake
We’ll taste the coffee houses and award certificates
A privy seal to keep the feel of 1960's style
We’ll comment on the decor and we’ll help the passer by
And at dusk when work is over we’ll continue the debate
In a borrowed bedroom virginal and spare
The catcher hits for .318 and catches every day
The pitcher puts religion first and rests on holidays
He goes into cathedrals and lies prostrate on the floor
He knows the drink affects his speed he’s praying for a doorway
Back into the life he wants and the confession of the bench
Life outside a diamond is a wrench
I wish that you were here with me to pass the dull weekend
I know it wouldn’t come to love, my heroine pretend
A lady stepping from the songs we love until this day
You’d settle for an epitaph like “Walk Away, Renee”
The sun upon the roof in winter will draw you out like
a flower
Meet you at the statue in an hour

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