CLEARING THE ATTIC           97




One of those pretty evenings when words’re a mystery to me
And all my useless little wisdom doesn't get me free
Heart broken by tiny hammers upon piano strings
In a room and at a table set for pauper kings

What did I learn in school today, a drunken perception of time?
How to split up symmetry, criticising pantomime
I celebrate my ignorance, spill wine across the floor
Humble in my arrogance, one day I might mature

Scraps of paper faked a journal 
Temporarily I was eternal
Intending to leave a final note 
I played and sang and wrote and wrote
And by the time I'd reached the end 
Found out all was good again

This genius is ugly now, his reflection is just wrong
The frame has broke, the art escaped to chase after the song
I'm clearing out the attic now, it’s cluttered up with stuff
Heart not free but fairly cheap, for now that is enough.