The present yields no happiness
No smiles
No laughter
Abandoned ideas fall in the truck as I drive in the morning
I still don’t have the money for a voice recorder
(sigh)
Ahhhhhhh Love will tear us apart
Black stage, clothes, hair
NOTHING beats applause
I need it; I need to feel to good
I wasted my talent
I guess I should be happy that I got my 15 minutes
This is my only outlet
I reach some
I gain small bits of pleasure from the praise or the tears or the smiles and nods
We have all felt what I have written
I do the justice and in this I shall yield the happiness
Reap it
Sow the seeds in words that tumble whilst the music from my past blasts me back
Music drives the soul and carries the heart to the prom
Damn I need more
Is she out there?
Will she find me?
Or am I destined to be alone………….

You bastard


R David Paine III
06/03/01
8:59p