Prufrock

“Prufrock”
WWL III
2001

Well, I guess time is a window,
Falling towards my death.
Countless memories of wasted energy,
Leave me at home in bed.
So, I make myself known to this world,
But this world isn’t known at all.
Colorful ladies seem to talk talk talk,
But for all of their talk, it’s just talk.

Lying on my back again,
The ceiling paint is flaking.
Awkward memories reside here.
Sounding out to what my friends,
They say I am mistaken,
Falling into the same old lie again.
Falling into the same old dream.

I brushed my teeth before I called you,
And at the time, I guess it made sense.
It didn’t seem to help my words with direction,
But they certainly smelled eloquent.
I said, “I have everything I want in this world,
Right inside my head.
Oh, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all.”
But then, it never is.

Lying on my back again,
The ceiling paint is flaking.
Awkward memories belong here.
Sounding out to what my friends,
They say-they say I am mistaken,
Falling into the same old lie again.
Falling into the same old dream.

Please don’t wake me.

‘And all the women come and go,’
Their arrogance, it rapes me.
Preying on my innocent,
Face.
But this fickle flippant world would shun my fate,
If you would only be here when I wake.
This fickle flippant world would shun my fate,
If you could only be here when I wake.

Please don’t wake me.