Song in Neon
Saturday, September 7, 2019 at 8:29PM
David Antrobus in Death, Love, Motels, Neon, Nick Cave, Women, music, noir, poetry

Alone now in a motel, sitting not so pretty.

How come all the girls I ever loved are named after cities?

 

Geneva, come back to me. Adelaide, are you there?

Madison and Phoenix, Savannah down in Georgia,

You ain’t so bothered now, but did you ever really care?

 

This animal in my throat, you better hope

It never breaks out. Go home, go home,

Go home now, dance and eat yourself sober. 

I ain’t guilty of this impending crime, I won’t

Admit that any damn thing is ever really over.

 

Things and people come, more often they go,

But all of that’s some half-digested ego. 

 

Red light through blinds like rays of blood,

Walls green with sixteen thousand hangovers.

Was anything we laughed or cried at ever any good?

Were we not even friends when I thought we were lovers?

 

A fool back then, more foolish now. I’ll leave in

The quiet hours under night’s impartial cover,

Slip away, not even someone’s memory or even

Credibly alive, though maybe I was never. 

Article originally appeared on The Migrant Type (http://www.the-migrant-type.com/).
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