Robert Three

A worn-out empty feeling, hot kitchens bad aches, something leaking, she brings me the news, with a doctor’s face, when you know the truth, but also the sea, an artist bright unfazed, for this old has been, looking for something new, a need to get away, she plays me Delta Blues, blows it on the street, all she works and saves, nothing left to seek, I'm still left in perdue, falling like the rain, down broken avenues, it sends me reeling, by St Luke’s place, kills me with her being, these sunny days.