Kevin Two

Put me on the train, I can hardly speak, you listen to the rain, forget sunlit avenues, or this roof that leaks, a bucket of bad news, Paris or Marseilles, anywhere they speak, not somewhere fake, pray I’ll see you soon, before my hair is grey, in your lavender room, don’t mark this day, when crazy inner deeds, come out to play, a magnolia blooms, love turns at ninety degrees, it’s not my tune, what is there to say, who would believe, that prayers are forsaken, when I hear the sea?