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Don’t Lay Me Down

My name it is of no consequence now

as if it had mattered anyway, anyhow.

It’s written in stone six feet from my bones,

misspelled and it’s fading. I should’ve known.

Born on June 2nd, 1953.

God saved the queen. She lived longer than me.

My crowning was tight. We fought through the night.

Her coronation was blinding and bright.

Don’t lay me down. I want to go ‘round.

I dreamed in the classroom. I learned in the street.

I fought in the school yard. I thought on my feet.

Factory work paid, and the wages I made

left my hands just as fast as the women I played.

I had a son born 1993.

His mother said once he is nothing like me.

I loved him ‘til death. My life was bereft,

cold as my lips, and blue as my breath.

I had a local where they knew my name.

I could have been somebody. No one’s to blame.

The architect died with my plans by his side.

I tried and I failed, and I failed and I tried.

I died all alone in a room that I rent.

The way I came in is the way that I went -

gasping for air. Death isn’t fair.

I forced out a laugh, and I stifled a prayer.

It’s seldom I feel a foot on my plot -

a scheme that I had, a path that I bought,

a route that I chose, a river that flows

into the future where nothingness grows.

The snow and the grass are obscuring my name.

Groundskeeper’s jealous. He keeps me from fame.

If you’re around, keep your ear to the ground.

I’ll I ll tell you the secret to life that I found.

© Audsongs 2017

From Unless And Until, written years before.

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