Who Feels the
Most
You pull over
the covers
cos you’re tired of all those others
and you blame yourself for everything you see
your hands and fists are useless
while you remain quite clueless
how to brush away the weeks of weird debris
You lie awake
hearing the prickle of the rain
and though you ache
you will not wait in vain
who feels the most
has the most to gain
And there’s
a quiet paralysis
fading in your wakened carcass
and you breathe in up against the darkened wall
and the stars insist on shining
between the clouds you’re riding
you can’t even say you’re heading for a fall
You lie awake
hearing the prickle of the rain
and though you ache
you will not wait in vain
who feels the most
has the most to gain
The milkman then
will whistle
as light invades the drizzle
and you try to curl yourself into a ball
all sounds contained in silence
and light in darkness piling
and you you are the morning after all
You lie awake
hearing the prickle of the rain
and though you ache
you will not wait in vain
who feels the most
has the most to gain