Showing up Late
A wire shines gold,
a glass lightbulb,
no one's there, I keep it on
so people think I am home
Hours run slow,
pages, they blow,
endless ribbon between us now,
the distance it grows
I could turn off the god-awful clock
hold back the hands and make the numbers stop
but what good would that create?
I'd always be
showing up late
My eyes became
old weathervanes
pointing down dead-end drives
just before it starts to rain
Nothing will wait,
no matter what state
the worlds in, some call it luck
while others call it fate.
I could turn off the god-awful clock
hold back the hands and make the numbers stop
but what good would that create?
I'd always be
showing up late
Fooling myself,
and showing up late
Fooling myself,
and showing up late
Fooling myself,
and showing up and late
Oh, by the day,
there's more you can say,
but you don't,
it's sealed away,
ain't that the way it goes?
Writer/s: John Calvin Abney
