another day in the way
of me coming home
dressed in tinsel and light
with no one to call my own
it's a lonely day in baghdad
a lonely day alone
music entwined
with the fears of one
in the land
of another
with nothing to call my own
but the night
it's a lonely night in baghdad
a lonely night alone
but when those wheels
touch down
and my heart unfolds
the light of my heart
will be yours to hold
but for now
it's a lonely day in baghdad
a lonely day alone
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1 comment:
I’m sitting on a rock by the port at Finisterre, or the “end of the world.” Sky is clear and the water is blue. Baghdad is covered in blood stains, mud and garbage. The rivers smell like a sewer, hell they are! Then why do I long to go home.
We all long to go home. If we can’t, we take a piece of it with us; a photo, a memory, a laundry recite on 14th Ramadan street for a coat I never picked up. We hang on to those until our days in exile are done. You’re lonely nights will be done and I won’t be able to mess with your brain cowboy ;) … once you’re away from this crazy part of the world and back where you belong.
Stay safe.
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