Flying Phone Booths

Everything I sing bleeds the blues and everything I touch I leave with a bruise… Still I don’t remember being wrong, But I said I was….and you broke south anyway. leaving behind a cold, hard and eerie truth…Kind of like how no one cares what happened to all the old phone booths.

People had moments in them… Penetrating…. Like I in you…Watching a tragic phone call throught the glass…. almost seemed to transform then into a tomb….Still no one ever asks what happened to Superman’s old dressing room…Here one day and gone silently… whenever….like a flying bird dropping a lose feather…..Maybe they have followed that trail of lost feathers….on to something new…maybe they all just flew south…

                              …like you.