from by Semaphora

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You met me back when in the worst of my days
In a dreary and cold November
From where I was I would have given such praise
To anything that could help me along
I said the things that I had thought I should say
And kept smiling so you’d remember
The good impression that I put on that day
When I quietly sang your song

There is no friendship in an interview
But still you looked across the line
And tried to see what I made sure you never knew
One small protectorate of what is solely mine

For making friends with me would only be a mistake
I’ll push upon the pedal while you’re pulling the brake
The things we have in common will all prove to be fake
If I should see you sleeping I will poke you awake
I’ll vanish once I pocket all I think I can take
I’ll serve you only frosting for there isn’t a cake
And that’s one tenth of all the trouble that I’m certain to make

Now that I’m settled in the sin of my ways
You want to think of me like a neighbor
But still this feeling like a foreigner stays
On my conscience like sixty stones
I drink your glass of Mavrodaphne divine
As you ask me to stop and savor
Is that because you think that everything’s fine
Or that proximity chills your bones

When you’re enamoured of a photograph
One tends to miss the things behind
You’d overlook a twenty­three foot tall giraffe
For all the other senses active on your mind

Don’t mean to emphasize the differences
I’m only trying to save you time
What I believe is far from what your father says
And yet you’re saying that you want him to be mine


from Zoonotic, released April 5, 2017



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Semaphora Bridgeport, Connecticut

Carefully crafted rock treatises on our fascinating world.

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