Cellmates

The bars are cold in my hands hanging low
I stare at the floor wondering when I can go
Back out on the street walking tall and alone
Counting my steps like chalk marks on a stone
Marking down the days how long I’ve been in
Waiting on the Warden for a new life to begin
A tiny room with scratch marks on the walls
Survival at best babies crying down the hall
Trapped and forgotten by days just killing time
The room is divided up between hers and mine
Laying on my back sleeping in separate beds
Ten feet away eating all the shit I’ve been fed
Over the years and under the storm clouds rain
Soaked to the bone but something has to change
Wondering what lies just beyond the rusty gate
Tied by forgiveness holding on for heavens sake

9:00 am smoke break

My cigarette burns like incents out my cracked window
Twice today I’ve heard that Fleetwood Mac song on the radio
The one about reflections, snow covered hills and getting old
I never really cared for it but its deep and meaningful I’m told
If you really listen close to words it’s just a bunch of nonsense
Feeling sorry for your self about an unavoidable circumstance
Bitching about life to a pretty melody and an acoustic guitar
I know a guy who met Stevie once in some little shit hole bar
He said she was so coked up she had tears in her eyes
Maybe it was the drugs but maybe it was a landslide