Paul Three

Is it only half true, when you smell the Limes, on a windblown avenue, that you really don’t know, forget each tie that binds, feel it in your bones, try to stay aloof, say you know what’s right, except there's no clue, you’re not alone, these desolate nights, let others keep score, don’t rage and argue, your life isn’t a crime, let the fire warm you, try to keep going, in the cold evening light, when the bailiffs phone, they won’t speak of virtue, are not inclined, to know you're through, In this strange time.