My Monday Metrical Musings #154

silver dynamic microphone on black microphone stand

No Chairs Will Turn For You

A broken heart is what you left
I can’t believe you would say that
Lost my nerve and lost my faith
I carried them, carried them far away

A broken spirit is what I have
I can’t believe you’d do me like that
Don’t you know how much this means to me?
I cradled and buried it six feet deep

I spent all I had practicing
So determined to win this thing
Small-town boy holding beanstalk dreams
Never settling for the in-between

But oh….

All I heard
All I heard
No chairs will turn for you
So just forget it
Why belt your heart out
Til it shoots past your sleeve?

Didn’t you know singing was my dream?
No, not “pack-the-stadium-to-the-max”
That’s never my gig, never my thing
Just a small smoky parlor
Where the rusty ceiling fans falter
As it stirs all around a trance-like atmosphere
While my brittle voice drifts out from
Somewhere deep in me into the precious mike

It’s all I know
It’s all I wanted
Yet you said no chairs will turn for me
I’m hurt.
Can’t you see?

It’s that really truly what you believe?
That not a single chair would turn
For your daddy?
For me?

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