Sunday Morning

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    Sunday Morning

     I woke up Sunday morning
    with a grease stain on my pillow from my hair
    and my shoes and the lights were still on
    that's how I knew I passed out right there
    I wiped the sweat off of my brow
    cuz last night I had a terrible nightmare
    and I leaned to kiss you good morning
    and that's when I remembered you weren't there
    I put on my helmet, got on my bike,
    but I couldn't get it started once again
    so I threw my helmet in the corner,
    opened up the freezer, and then
    I pulled out the bottle, opened it up
    finished it off and that was when
    I wrote you a letter
    I knew that I would never send
    I decided to play a song
    that I used to listen to a long time ago
    cuz there's something about Johnny Cash
    that can make anybody feel at home
    so I sat down by the record player
    and went through all the albums that I own
    looking for that perfect song
    for Sunday morning when you're drinking alone
    I know I never got to see
    many of the legends of the past
    the people  that have shaped my life
    with their music that will always last
    Chuck Briggs, Sid Vicious, Joey Ramone, and Elvis
    listening to them i had a blast
    Patsey Cline, Joe Strummer, Johnny Cash
    my heros that aren't coming back
    God damn I miss the man in black

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    knight4696 commented on Sunday Morning

    02-06-2010

    I like the emotional depth you reached in this one - a very visual write indeed ... felt like I was watching the scene play out ... Nice Work! :)
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    tidekeeper commented on Sunday Morning

    12-05-2009

    I really like this one. I can get the sense of loneliness you're trying to convey, when there is really no one to be your friend except for a good song.
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    IceKnight commented on Sunday Morning

    12-01-2009

    Bravo It reminded me of my drinking days when I drank with the Man in Black ( via the records, of course ), Enjoyed times with the bottle but like my life without it. You hit the nail on the head with your lost love. Thanks for a breat pice of work that dealt with life.
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    HarverTomsson commented on Sunday Morning

    12-01-2009

    Never had a Sunday morning quite like yours, but have nostalgia everytime I think of "Walkin the Line." His Folsome Prison blues was about as raw a confession as I could imagine, dressed as I usually was for church, as a kid.
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    devaamido commented on Sunday Morning

    12-01-2009

    "Love Wilts" read that one, friend. That's a hard truth, but it's my only answer to your existential pain. I do understand. But remember, it works both ways...Men become insufferable assholes to their women... & women leave...everybody cries & blames everybody else.
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    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

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