…so it’s 6:00am, vodka knows your name and in the devils hour guilt whispers back your shame and so it is you plead, strumming fingers till they bleed, don’t you worry bout the distance
you sing between the tears. And fragments they have shattered yet you’re singing that I matter. Vodka rushes down and words begin to slur, the line that we had drawn has once again become so blurred. So you sing, songs of old and new, on the guitar that you do play you whispered on my sunrise, that our future is okay…and hey there Delilah you tell me in the dark… Hey there Delilah, you sung beneath my stars.
Karen Hayward ©2017
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