I’m sitting at a table in a café called Bombay
My eyes are barely able to make out the light of day
The waiter asks me something but I don’t know what to say
Except that I'm so sorry as my mind it melts away
And just like that a panic does ensue
Staring at a plate of vindaloo

I’m walking through a world where so much is out of reach
No matter what life gives to me, it just can’t heal the breach
I try my best to sympathize but there’s nothing more to teach
And I’d stop to see the master but I’m in no mood for a speech
And I doubt there’s anything that he could do
But serve me up plate of vindaloo

If you’ll pardon me the inference but why you sucking on that bong?
This level of indifference makes me think that something’s wrong
I like to get to know you and maybe when we’re through
We could share a little prayer and a plate of vindaloo




© 2012 Steven Clotzman - all rights reserved