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My waitress, in your Goodwill dress,
Bring me tea and bring me fire,
This could be the end of me,
I can hear your voice in the choir.

On and on,
The many mirror the moods of the one,
The buildings tremble and the trees are gone
From the land they grew upon.

I’m walking straight into the wind,
I’m facing off the loss of everything,
I can’t withstand what the days bring.

My hostess, strung up and blessed,
Show me all you have inside,
The illusion’s dead, but in what you’ve said
I still can know the truth from the lies.

Through and through,
Most of me was made up of you,
You were too close to see, so I never knew,
And I don’t know what to do.

(Repeat CH x2)



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James Snowdon Harris London, UK

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