 Desperate Dreams
Each night; here in this dirty old motel, in the room next to mine, she tosses fitfully and entertains the men of her dreams. In her dreams some might be rich men; some only have the price of a six pack of cold beer. Just north of the stockyards is a smoky old barroom; seems like it’s always been just across the alley in all of my dreams. We have one thing in common; each night I lay here lonely; each night the men of her dreams are always short term…
| 
|
| Saturday night in this city, two o’clock is last call; but night after night it only brings out the broken hearts for people like us. Tonight as I lay here dreaming I envision that smoky old barroom; the jukebox is playing, and I’m there in her arms. In visions I see us slowly walking to the home of our once broken dreams. I see us as we walk, hand in hand; long after midnight, with two glasses, and a bottle wrapped tightly in brown paper…
 |
| My life sure ain’t going anywhere; hers is just an empty shell; so as I lay here, night after lonely night, I just keep dreaming of going to that smoky old barroom, just to see what two o’clock brings. Just two broken people, all we really have left is our brown paper-bags, our lives now reduced to a bunch of old memories and our empty dreams… |
~ © 2003 David L. Griffith ~
For My Special Lady |
