Place
She spoke of a different place. He kissed her sweetly. They were lovers once. She went away, he stayed behind. Years have passed and she still speaks of a different place.

Me
All my life I've wanted to fly and touch the sky. Just as I've wanted to swim to the bottom of the sea. Now comes the night with laughing blankets to cover me. Sleep slips past easily and free. Past the morning where wondering clouds wait for me.

Bed
There were voices that took me home. They picked me up when I had fallen...tongues as arms lifted my bruised and bloody self. Words of hate. Words of love. Words from those voices strong and merry took me round the reddening bend. Then the voices inside my hurting head screamed to drop me instead. But the good cords of love lifted me again like an outdoor song and carried me all the way to where I belong. To home where I slept in my own bed.

Distance
For everyone who has known a lonely city inside their dying heart, I speak to an echo and ask in rebel voice: Why to every life comes an early death? The answer came in wicked laugh and then died like what happens to me and you. I speak now to that lonely city and hear my words echoing in a distance.

Fred
There is a pattern to my steps.
Along these dark urban stairs I climb steeply to a park nearly in darkness. I arrive with my escaping breath. I rest. The pattern returns to my resuming steps. These deceiving eyes see dancers. Some say it is dangerous to walk this park at night. But I see not danger, but those deceiving  dancers in elegant dress. I'd dance too, but I am tone deaf and nearly blind. What a place to rest, I think. To close my olden eyes and twirl like Fred Astaire.

Instead
Something weighs heavily on me
Life is so long
I feel short of breath
There is a movie at a late show
I'll walk to it slowly
Maybe I can stop and catch my fleeing heart
Lay down and rest
Watch the old movie inside me instead

Voice
These hands of plunder
They take from me in life and death
My soul, my soul that yearned for so much
The wealth was in my dreams, my hope like a shiny jewel
These hands of plunder robbed me of this
Greedy, the Hands robs from you and me
Hold tight! But in death you are no more
Yet a voice eerily echoes in delight in this our lasting soul

Sane
I saw a man wasting away on a cold autumn day
The drugs in his veins were highways to what was sane
Early snow flakes fell into a thin linen on an old street bed
They covered him
I walked and thought hopeless:
There were no drugs in these helpless veins,
But as all men, I had highways to what was sane

Return
A man was dressed in black. His overcoat weighed heavily along his shoulders. His fedora, the crown pinched tight, was pulled low against his brow. He slipped into darkness. Alone, he felt a cold wind and was certain what he wore hid him from the night.

There was another man. He too was dressed in black and slipped into darkness, alone against the night. With their fedoras pulled low they walked in near blindness and bumped into each other.

"Are...aren't you Square Corner? one man asked.

Both men walked quickly away. No words were to have been said. The rule had been broken. The game was over. One man felt free, the other sad. The overcoat that weighed heavily on his shoulders was no good, the loser thought.