Sasha

Here in an empty Saloon, I play this sad game, It does me no good, shadows make strokes, across the dirty bus lanes, shocked again I'm broke, songs of melancholy hue, drift from a guitar playing, they hang in the blue, down this long road, they say loss’s net gain, but when you need loans, who calls the tune, above wooden tables, it seeps into my perfume, better exist alone, with him off the rails, I’ll carry the load, due north are the Dunes, lying over the lake, what happens to truth, does it make waves?