Wanda

Windows have paint strokes, against the falling rain, shocked again I'm broke, echoes of an empty reel, another barefoot holiday, it’s no news to me, at my birthing stone, loss brings certainty, when you asks for loans, songs have a different feel, like lonely old trains, save whistles for the hills, to beg again alone, with love gone on skates, hits me in the credit zones, it makes my friends conceal, shadows of the sting days, which circle my worn keel, will go to the city home, hang my stuff on a nail, I'm a generous soul, someone will reclaim.