But Hopefully...
It's Not My Day...But Hopefully It's My Year.
Standing on a street busking away my heart - I sing my song called 'A.M. Waiting' about the love of my life having something better to do than to be with me that night.
I'm close to tears as I recall the pain, the feelings of inadequacy - it made no sense.
After pouring out my soul on that cold winter's day - all it got me was twenty cents.
With apprehension I broke into 'This Hurting Secret' - a song about being sexually molested at the age of twelve.
The experience left me scared, shattered and feeling dirty.
What was it all worth now? - A dollar thirty.
It's not my day...but hopefully, it's my year.
With tenderness and a solemn beauty that just can't translate into words, I perform 'Still' - a desperate wish to recapture the perfect love that I foolishly gave away.
From the whispering verses to a chorus that builds to a heart-wrenching holler, all I received was a patronising dollar.
All the lessons I've learnt from this life so cruel, so coldly debilitating and curiously strange -
In return all I get is a stranger's loose change.
Being seen has never been a problem.
It's not being heard that is my greatest fear.
It's not my day...but hopefully, it's my year.
I up the tempo with 'Au Revoir Paris' - An explicit number about my mad, three-day sex affair with a French bouncer from Chatelet.
It was wild and fun and outrageously heavenly - Oh my god, five dollars seventy!
I swung my hips so fervently, so passionately that I almost fell.
How does the media rightly put it? Oh that's right - Sex sells.
I offer the secrets of the universe with 'My Tourist Is Your Soul'.
Unravelling and solving the mysteries of our lives.
With lyrics so inspiring and truly heaven-sent,
I look up and see not a single nod from an uninspiring sky.
So I look down to see what my wisdom meant and would you believe...not a single cent.
The sun has long gone, and my voice is soon to follow.
I'm hurting so much - I can't even swallow.
I pack up my earnings - a ten and a five.
That's all it's worth - a day in my life.
I make my way home and pass a busker on the street.
She's singing a song about love being shit.
I give her ten dollars for the tears that I hear.
It may not make her day, but it might make her year.
Standing on a street busking away my heart - I sing my song called 'A.M. Waiting' about the love of my life having something better to do than to be with me that night.
I'm close to tears as I recall the pain, the feelings of inadequacy - it made no sense.
After pouring out my soul on that cold winter's day - all it got me was twenty cents.
With apprehension I broke into 'This Hurting Secret' - a song about being sexually molested at the age of twelve.
The experience left me scared, shattered and feeling dirty.
What was it all worth now? - A dollar thirty.
It's not my day...but hopefully, it's my year.
With tenderness and a solemn beauty that just can't translate into words, I perform 'Still' - a desperate wish to recapture the perfect love that I foolishly gave away.
From the whispering verses to a chorus that builds to a heart-wrenching holler, all I received was a patronising dollar.
All the lessons I've learnt from this life so cruel, so coldly debilitating and curiously strange -
In return all I get is a stranger's loose change.
Being seen has never been a problem.
It's not being heard that is my greatest fear.
It's not my day...but hopefully, it's my year.
I up the tempo with 'Au Revoir Paris' - An explicit number about my mad, three-day sex affair with a French bouncer from Chatelet.
It was wild and fun and outrageously heavenly - Oh my god, five dollars seventy!
I swung my hips so fervently, so passionately that I almost fell.
How does the media rightly put it? Oh that's right - Sex sells.
I offer the secrets of the universe with 'My Tourist Is Your Soul'.
Unravelling and solving the mysteries of our lives.
With lyrics so inspiring and truly heaven-sent,
I look up and see not a single nod from an uninspiring sky.
So I look down to see what my wisdom meant and would you believe...not a single cent.
The sun has long gone, and my voice is soon to follow.
I'm hurting so much - I can't even swallow.
I pack up my earnings - a ten and a five.
That's all it's worth - a day in my life.
I make my way home and pass a busker on the street.
She's singing a song about love being shit.
I give her ten dollars for the tears that I hear.
It may not make her day, but it might make her year.
posted by Another Point of You... at 4:52 PM
1 Comments:
Written : October 11th 1999
By Omnitheus.
"Success and happiness is achieved not by making a million dollars from the lessons you learn in life, but by making a little sense of it all." ~ OM...
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