I KNOW WHERE ROBYN HITCHCOCK LIVES
Late one night, by chance, I spied, a stranger, yet,
familiar guy?
Twas distant down an alley way half shadow cast, all
black and gray.
Night was thick with humming wires,
street lamps
swayed to paint the spires
bedroom windows dimmed like ember in December’s frown
Pre-legendary then,
my phantom friend
still lurking round the bin, in street light dim, my
phantom friend
Amidst the poetry
of night A staggering form, no fancy
flight
did wander, thus, did intersect, distracting me as I
reflect
Like an exclamation out of place,
he steered his form
to match my pace
I turned , too late, he’s at my side, though drunk,
doth syncopate my stride.
dare not glance
peripheral, to not see what’s visible?
beyond what I could perpetrate, increase my pace, I
deviate.
Racing running my
lair swelling in my sight and
up the stair way turning on my bedroom light
footsteps echo, down the dusty corridors of night
Down the hallways,
closing all the curtains and
I block the doorways, still I hear him coming
breathing, stumbling, slow across the floors.
But as I opened
up my door, and search the dusty
corridors.
An phantom standing not quite clad,
save railroad
boots and cowboy hat.
With flannel shirt and blue jean vest,
just looming
there, all Roger-esque.
Phantom friend
all lyrics copyright 2004 Damien Youth