That lemony scent
Of tropical isles.
While your life slips away
In alphabetical files
Sandalwood drifts in a
South Asian breeze
The weekends you spend
Raking up autumn leaves
The dullness of living when you can't even feel
Tasting your dreams as if stories were real
Your bucket list kicked it, a remote with a view
Jab critical fingers at anything new
Music in cellars pounds
Sweat off the dancers
And all you can do is
Watch tawdry romances
(repeat chorus)
Oranges and apples now
Marmalade pie
If you weren't so crusty
You'd be ready to die
It's been fifty years since the revolution came
And your life is still mired in this banality
Oh please don't mistake those tattoos on your skin
For a breath of genuine individuality
Oh please don't tell me it's for the little children
You really are this trivial and empty - empty - empty
(repeat chorus)
Lime dust of old ruins
Cakes the skin of the scholar
And you struggle daily
For a future in dollars
(repeat chorus, etc.)
11/8/20 1:45 AM (verses);
12/9/20 (chorus and bridge);
1/24/21 (music and melding)
Note: As a poem, this used to consist of verses 1, 2, 3, and 5 only, exactly as they still are.
