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04/07/2018 01:36:19 PM |
Originally posted by posthumous:
Joni Mitchell |
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Thanks one of the best songwriters ever |
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04/07/2018 12:17:59 PM |
Joni Mitchell
He comes for conversation
I comfort him sometimes
Comfort and consultation
He knows that's what he'll find
I bring him apples and cheeses
He brings me songs to play
He sees me when he pleases
I see him in cafes
And I only say, hello
And turn away before his lady knows
How much I want to see him
She removes him, like a ring
To wash her hands
She only brings him out to show her friends
I want to free him
Secrets and sharing soda
That's how our time began
Love is a story told to a friend
It's second hand
But I'll listen to his questions
I'll give my answers when they're found
He says she keeps him guessing
I know she keeps him down
She speaks in sorry sentences
Miraculous repentance's
I don't believe her
Tomorrow he will come to me
And he'll speak his sorrow's endlessly and he'll ask me why
Why can't I leave her
He comes for conversation
I comfort him sometimes
Comfort and consultation
He knows that's what he'll find
He knows that's what, he'll find |
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 Photographer found comment helpful. |
Comments Made During the Challenge  |
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04/05/2018 10:07:22 PM |
i wish he wouldn't
tell those stories
across me
he thinks the driver is laughing
he thinks that I do not matter
but I am the one who is driven
seated on high |
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| Photographer found comment helpful. |
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04/05/2018 09:13:52 PM |
It was the weirdest thing
He stopped us at the red light
Told us his life story
Literally, from when he was a babe
Until he was stood right here
In the street
It was colourful I tell you
And then
He just walked off
Honestly,
The cars behind were just
Banging and banging
On their Horns. |
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| Photographer found comment helpful. |
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04/03/2018 12:25:06 PM |
Words at the curb
a monochrome car
we can't see the colour
of this conversation
It might be blue and green
What do you think? |
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| Photographer found comment helpful. |
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03/30/2018 11:23:08 AM |
We talked and talked
and nothing came of it
a change of money
a changing hand of pills
the deal went down,
right outside a Duane Read,
and we laughed at the honesty.
A jester's wit,
a soul coffin,
a fat passenger in a dirty van,
stares the face of
America in the eye,
and sticks a needle in
deeper and deeper.
Message edited by author 2018-04-06 04:49:18. |
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| Photographer found comment helpful. |
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