Mr Blonde
Bluelighter
Hidden
Well dressed
Well spoken
So supposedly
“Quietly Confident”
That smile
That flash of the eyes
Couldn't possibly betray anything
They don't betray anything at all
Sometimes slightly distant
Nothing to worry about
Nothing to be bothered about
Though he wears that jacket all the time
As though he has something to hide
Sitting there silently
Listening to the conversation
Not sure if he's there or not
Until suddenly he punctuates
With observation
A display of intelligence
To let you know he was listening
And he knows more then you think he does
Nothing is ever public
Everything is always hidden
Until she digs for clues
To confirm her suspicions
Finding blister packs in the trash
Along with empty, tiny, plastic bags
A few too many wine bottles
Explains the glazed over look in his eyes
When he insists he's sober
And he promises he is
He says he's all well
Nothing to worry about
He's fine, he insists
As the dark shadows underscore his eyes
As though he hasn't slept in a while
That time he was sick
Must just have been a bug he caught
Not the result of a binge
Or indulging too much in secrecy
At night he wonders where the others are
Who share in the same experiences he does
For whom daily life is a constant effort
The same people who try to share
But no one knows what they're on about
Their art belongs to another time
Their sounds are from another era
Their soul should be in another era
Instead stuck here
In 2010
With the directionless motions of a Beat
The need to change like a visionary
Evolutionist like a jazz man
And the perfectionist streak running deep
Deep as an athlete
Always striving for that goal
That's always so far out of reach.
Well dressed
Well spoken
So supposedly
“Quietly Confident”
That smile
That flash of the eyes
Couldn't possibly betray anything
They don't betray anything at all
Sometimes slightly distant
Nothing to worry about
Nothing to be bothered about
Though he wears that jacket all the time
As though he has something to hide
Sitting there silently
Listening to the conversation
Not sure if he's there or not
Until suddenly he punctuates
With observation
A display of intelligence
To let you know he was listening
And he knows more then you think he does
Nothing is ever public
Everything is always hidden
Until she digs for clues
To confirm her suspicions
Finding blister packs in the trash
Along with empty, tiny, plastic bags
A few too many wine bottles
Explains the glazed over look in his eyes
When he insists he's sober
And he promises he is
He says he's all well
Nothing to worry about
He's fine, he insists
As the dark shadows underscore his eyes
As though he hasn't slept in a while
That time he was sick
Must just have been a bug he caught
Not the result of a binge
Or indulging too much in secrecy
At night he wonders where the others are
Who share in the same experiences he does
For whom daily life is a constant effort
The same people who try to share
But no one knows what they're on about
Their art belongs to another time
Their sounds are from another era
Their soul should be in another era
Instead stuck here
In 2010
With the directionless motions of a Beat
The need to change like a visionary
Evolutionist like a jazz man
And the perfectionist streak running deep
Deep as an athlete
Always striving for that goal
That's always so far out of reach.
