Gypsy in the Attic
- by =Bark,
And hatboxes, trunks full of old clothes
Shows me my future in some boxes in a corner
What's left of me in twenty years or so
Stacks of dusty books that nobody's read
Dedicated to people now long dead
This was my life, what a waste of time
But what's time for but to waste?
Too late to be a part of history
Not even a local legend, just another
Of the disappeared, leaving behind
Treasures that are now nothing more than junk
Tell me, Gypsy, is this really all there is?
No great picnic in the sky with old friends and family?
Only bones in a box, or ashes in an urn
I've learned all about life, but it's too late
Another rainy day in Rockford
Snow all winter, rain all summer
There should be a statue of Ponchoboy and Rangergirl
At the clock tower where we first met
Life is unfair, history unkind
There should be monuments to great loves
They should at least be remembered
Not shoved into an attic corner
Where a blind gypsy reads the tarots
And the rain pounds the roof
And ghosts wish that they were real
And not shadows cast by gypsy candles
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