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Portland

de Jeff Lang

I'd like to think you can't leave me here
But every highwayman knows - you do what you please
Strand a man searching for your face
In every half-hung tear
And listening for your voice
In any half-heard sneeze
How would it feel to have heard the call
But to fumble the catch and un-hand the ball
Ask the one who has been shaken awake in the night
But to not listen hard enough
Fire a shotgun to the light
I know you're out there (I've felt your hand)
I'll search you out somehow
'Cause there's music waiting
Out in the rain
I'm hearing in it now

I know you're still singing (I strain to hear)
But our work is cut out
'Cause the air around here
Is so full and heavy
With voices all yelling
Voices full of nothing
Voices only selling
Second hand hope
Just to escape who you are
But you've always known better
Than to hide in projections
Or to wear a clever mask
Like paper protection
And in the thunderclap roar
Of my race through and round
The hills of who I am
I see what I could be
As I hear that phone ringing
And I hear her voice
(with yours' between the lines)

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