Sundays and Holidays

What do you think in the back seat?

Traveling through the yellow open state

Am I too slow to turn my thoughts to words

To turn meaningless to meaning

Am I too down to notice smell and sound

To tell dull from brightLet the sad winter moon turn slow to my future

And the cool dark air cover me in my nearing bed

Where angels, men and mothers

Get to spend their Sundays and holidays

Where curtains hide the ugly scenes inside

From the rest of usWhat's inside the brick walls of divide?

Barred window screens

Hospital, not a love scene

Hospital, not a calm ocean