what a mess

It’s sweet and it’s pure
Complicated and unjust
It smacks me in the face
What a marvelous mess

I felt so many things slip threw my fingers
Bob Mould, Chick Corea, The Beatles and Rob Zombie
It never was music until I heard it play
And now I’m glad the dancing’s over

It’s pink and it’s green
And I love it with ice-cream
It chokes me and makes me smile
What a beautiful mess

There was a time when I was specific
Now I’ll settle for anything that tickles
I’m in full swing and in the lead
And I imagine things will never return

It’s a lie and it’s truth
Midnight at Tom’s
Eleven at the Kremlin
It’s complicated but true
And I’m tired but pure
What a lovely mess

It’s late night stargazing
It’s falling for ‘hellos’
It’s a mannerism, a song
A latte a croissant
There’s a harmonica
And it’s Bob Dylan
I’m laying on my back
What an extraordinary mess