No poems...

Nobody’s writing love songs
that nobody wants to sing
No midnight dedications
on the radio for me
There’ll be no journal entries
that anybody wants to write
And nobody’s writing poems
for me tonight...

Nobody’s hanging pictures
on newly painted walls
Nobody’s missing footsteps
down their empty halls
Nobody’s selling nothing
that nobody ever needs
And nobody’s writing poems
that I’ll ever read...

Nobody’s looking up to Heaven
to wish on a lucky star
Nobody’s shedding tears
for my broken heart
Nobody’s thinking of me
before they go to sleep
And nobody’s writing poems
for me to keep...

I'm not the hero...

I’m not the angel that fell from the sky
That got lost in your kiss and forgot how to fly
I’m not the pirate you’re dreaming of
Who sailed across oceans of time for your love
I’m not the cowboy in your favorite love song
I could never lose you and be that strong
I’m not the hero in the books you read
Still, not quite the scoundrel I lead you to believe

I’m not the sailor lost at sea
Who threw his heart into the ocean but could not be free
I’m not the knight on a holy quest
With a purse full of diamonds and your name on his chest
I’m not the lonely vampire running through the night
Who needs to feel your touch before the morning light
I’m not the hero in the books you read
Still, not quite the scoundrel I lead you to believe

Souvenirs from lonely cities

I only have these words and stories that I heard
And broken hearts upon my shelf but I left pieces of my self
On the streets of Chicago and Rome

I only have these lines and some of them aren’t mine
And paper hearts I keep in jars that I collected in many bars
From London to New York

I only have these dreams that tear up at the seems
And the echoes in the dark of souls torn all apart
From Buenos Aires to Hong Kong

And I only have these tears I’ve collected all these years
And a sweet blessing from hell - words that ring out like bells
From Atlanta to Tokyo

She reads Macbeth...