Broken records

All these wasted efforts and all these restless moons
All these the broken records, they could not bury you

All this wishful thinking in hopes of something new
Can’t erase what’s stinking up the memory of you

All your prized possessions, a night at the opera too
A hundred lost confessions that never worry you

All those wasted efforts on trying reach the moon
All those broken records they could not bury you

 

All these empty bottles littering the floor
Are like all those restless strangers that can’t give anymore

And I know I shouldn’t bother with the silent afternoons
I guess get it from my father who always said that we we’re doomed

By all this great potential, oh the possibilities
And yet to know not what’s essential when doing what we please

But a hundred sad reflections have never carried you
‘Cause like all those broken records they cannot bury you


© 2012 Steven Clotzman - all rights reserved