Iona Three

Love holds the door ajar, your hair falls down like rain, you don't get very far, but sit around a Pool, silken trees breeze away, can you hear their news, they whisper about your Da, just another player, lonely as a shooting star, the money he tooled, in a poor jaded way, evermore the fool, buys another car, to burnish mother's games, no room for scars, flayed by their rules, forget the hurt they made, that other part of you, taps on the bar, feels the morning haze, hit the road burning tar, who are they anyway ?.