He used to be the Monarch,

he fancied himself as the king of her heart,

he used to think that he had it all,

the power of the mind and this arrogant smile ;

and the way he saw it, there was no,

reason why this shouldn’t go on and on ;

because he could read between the lines,

because he knew her like the back of his hand.

But the judgment came, sharp as the guillotine,

chopping the head off this dejected prince,

shell-shocked, astounded, he saw himself falling,

off the pedestal she had erected for him.

Then the warm and friendly shadows,

of the Dark took him under their wings,

and he drifted into a new world,

among the silhouettes of the Nightwalkers.

He sneaked inside a pub to have a pint or four,

it was the only way to cope, he had read this before,

at a time when the only thing he stood for,

was the grim and cosy comfort that passes for love ;

and the anger, the fury, and the pain inside him,

seemed to ease for a while,( in the heat of that night),

in no time he felt like Billy Sponge,

who goes from bar to bar like a blissful punk.

Then the warm and heartening shadows,

of the Dark took him under their wings,

and he drank himself into a new world,

among the silhouettes of the Nightwalkers.

When all the hurly-burly had been done,

the bartender was quick to give him food for thought,

his wide navy blue eyes had earned him his nickname,

so everywhere in town he was known as” the Whale”      

He had the build of a logger and a Scotsman’s throat,

and a tongue sharp enough to unsettle anyone ; (he said)

« Boy you miss the point, for men and women are

at war with each other, but only ladies know… »

Then the warm and friendly shadows,

of the Dark took him under their wings,

and he drifted into a new world,

among the silhouettes of the Night;

then the warm and heartening shadows,

of the Dark kept him under their wings,

and he drowned himself into a new world,

among the silhouettes of the Nightwalkers.

Frankie is a gambler, with no taste for losing,

 no fear of heights;

and he sells with smiling charm, big empty villas

to rich lonely women.

And he’s got no time for, guitar-loving

freaks and hippies who could spoil his day,

but he’s got time to spend with a teenage girl,

who knows the mystery inside this ladies man.

Dark cloud, over the hill

so close, yet so far away

from her, an Indian fighter’s

shadow, above the meadow.

So he takes this free spirit to Zuma beach

to an ocean of promises he’ll never  keep

thinking to himself, he can’t play that game,

he’s an old wooden actor, in this child’s play.

Dark cloud, over the hill

so close, yet so far away

from her, an Indian fighter’s

shadow, above the meadow.

A day, a month, a year of laughter,

amid  pastures new, is all she’s after,

so Breezy smiles as Frankie’s mind

wanders and wonders,

till he finds an answer.

Dark cloud, over the hill

so close, yet so far away,

from her, an Indian fighter’s

 shadow, above the meadow;

Dark cloud, over the hill,

so far, yet so close to her,

a loner, but not for ever,

a tormented soul on offer.

When  she sometimes fell asleep , after too long a talk ,

I had that gut feeling that far beyond the words,

she ‘d found a better way of confiding in me,

for all the time she’d wasted, and the great  pains she’d taken,

to  try to convert, others to her views,

 had somewhat robbed her, of the recklessness,

Teenage years should be about, and had in a way

 taken her, too far away from me.

She thought that those who dream, in broad daylight,

have it in them, to change this fallen world,

and deep inside  she hoped to own that inner flame;

but she could also make me feel, like the captain of a sinking ship,

when she craved for the shelter of  my trembling young arms,

to cast away the shades of her familiar ghosts…

And I began to wonder, who my Lady of the Night  was,

from the moment we went to that small rock concert,

that a few of my mates had seen fit to organize,

deep in a football field lost in the countryside,

a setting that  took away some of its splendor,

from the solemn event we were about to share;

for after all it was the chance, we had been waiting for,

it was the minute, we were  to find ourselves,

a  fact she underlined with  authority,

just  before I managed, to seal with a kiss,

the fusion of our stars, in my own clumsy way.

THE stage had been  cleared, for quite a while now,

and the lights had politely gone out,

on a gig that had been neither  better nor worse, than many others.

In the dressing-room, a few musicians,

were cracking jokes, busy passing a joint;

trying to hang on to a floating dream,

that danced above red curtains,

but their moment was gone, already forgotten.

And far from these drug-addicted smilers,

I perceived to my surprise, the outline of a difference,

like a streak of light from a flaming spear,

that awakened in me, a sense of urgency…

And there you were, with a guitar in hand.

You had opened for us, a few hours before,

displaying  that  passionate  fever,

we had been sadly missing, throughout the evening,

and yet your fingers kept, caressing your six- string,

as if you meant to take me, inside your own story,

but as it was quite late, and I was very drunk,

I may have seen a sign, when there was just a smile…

The shape of your body, and that of your guitar,

were  like a gorgeously, exciting silhouette,

a graceful question mark,  that spelt danger for me,

but by a curious trick, made me eager to walk,

a few steps further just for the thrill of it,

like a seasoned traveller insensible to fear,

dazing under the charm, of some new language…

But I felt that SOMEDAY, you might look down on me,

as if I had barely existed, like an unwelcome guest,

or a Court buffoon, feeding off the crumbs ,

of your Roman feast.

So I fancied I would be taking you in my wake,

but it was you who were, picking the tempo

of the whole adventure;

I  tried hard to believe, that every minute together,

would serve your learning curve,

but you knew all along, where you wanted to be…

Leather jackets, roaring amps, silver basses and golden rings,

managers in a trance, crowds of puppets dancing;

I  worshipped you, well you liked me,

and I taught you all I knew, but that wasn’t enough,

so you  took note, and I lost you, no hard feelings, thank you so much.

I knew that SOMEDAY, you would look down on me,

 as if I had barely existed,

with the arrogance of those who will be  courted,

 in the heat of the spotlights, and the fun of the backstage;

yet I sensed  SOMEDAY you might lament the nights,

when you used to play, these cool blues licks, to an audience of six.

And maybe SOMEDAY, all illusions gone,

you would stop looking down on me,

when all the agitation would be over,

and sweetness would return to your landscape,

like in a long-awaited scenario,

where these innocent, but restless eyes of yours,

would scrutinize me, at the very instant,

when I would leave for good.

Like a Western film hero taking the road, away from you;

then you would kindly ask, if you could hope  for my return,

and I would pause for a while, to answer with a smile:

“SOMEDAY”

There you are, stuck in between the four walls of a shaken dream,

there’s no reflection of a single tear in your eye,

but you know that something is bleeding inside,

a damage, that no word can tell.

Fierce lights pierce the night,

drunken figures flutter in a nearby bar,

you’ ll have to stop, staring at that phone,

 for there’s no sign of life at the end of the line,

 at the end of your sigh…

TALK TO ME!  Is that what you say?

Sorry my dear, I’m in a hurry today,

TALK TO ME! Is that what I hear?

There’s no use to squeal, I will call you next week!

If you take your car, to see what’s going on,

you will find yourself on a dead-end street,

don’t  smash the window, or throw his desk on the floor,

and above all please, leave his paintings alone;

he might be angry, if ever he comes;

gently go back to  bed,  and try to get some sleep,

you know you can’t afford, to leave his  circle of friends,

 better count out loud, every second you breathe,

it will take you, till morning…

TALK TO ME ! Is that what you say?

Sorry my dear, I’m in a hurry today,

TALK TO ME ! Is that what I hear?

There’s no use to squeal, I will call you next week!

In the end, in the very end,

there will be nothing left, of all your  doubts,

you know he’s busy , as an artist can be,

still you spy on everything he’s supposed to do;

(he will be quite upset, maybe he’ll slam the door…)

So you phone to Paula, then you phone to John,

but  it seems your friends have all gone out…

Then the front door bell rings just in time,

but it’s only a rotten joke, and there is no one outside,

just another fallen star, you.

TALK to me! I Is that what you say?

Sorry my dear, I’m in a hurry today;

TALK to me !  Is that what I hear?

There’s no use to cry, I will call you sometime,

TALK TO ME! Is that what you say?

Sorry my dear, I’m very busy today,

TALK TO ME! Is that what I hear?

There’s no use to  squeal, I will call you next week!