David SmithWhite

Rookie (270552 / Australia)

Song: The Road to Nowhere


To travel the road to nowhere.
The soul's dark amazon.
Eternal peace is anywhere,
the mind might set upon.

To travel the road to nowhere.
To know you're really gone.
And when you finally get there,
to find your god is Ron.

There's something in the cupboard, boy.
There's something in the dark.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
that leaves a lasting mark.

There's something in the cupboard, boy.
Old secrets gather dust.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
that reeks decay and must.

To travel the road to nowhere.
Reading signposts from beyond.
As self-deceit completes defeat,
a cold ghost light is shone,
on Ron. On Ron.

He learned to sham at his father's knee.
He knew the power of story.
He lived by lies and fantasies,
and dreamed of fame and glory.

So travel the road but beware,
for he drew an arcane map.
His weak and dismal followers,
could see no fatal trap.

But in his inner circle,
his worth would soon reveal.
To those that rail and cavil,
he'd crush beneath his heel.

There's something in the cupboard, boy.
The sweetest scent of musk.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
as warm and moist as lust.

To travel the road to nowhere.
It's not the smoothest ride.
To have all faith you must defer,
to a self-referring guide.

To travel the road to nowhere.
To avoid the rush and throng.
Unravel in the space of somewhere,
and sing a specious song.

There's something in the cupboard, boy.
It's got an evil breath.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
that toys with fear and death.

To travel the road to nowhere.
And wield your magic wand.
A shuffling prisoner of despair,
when fragile hopes abscond.

To travel the road to nowhere.
A funeral dress you don.
All truth is moulded out there,
like a Sci-Fi writer's con.

There's something in the cupboard, boy.
You hear it scratch and whine.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
both bedevilled and divine.

To travel the road to nowhere.
To follow a different sun.
To travel the road with due care,
not to end as you begun.

To travel the road to nowhere,
to life's grim denouement.
Be sighted by the cross hairs,
released from earthly bond.

To travel the road to nowhere.
Your face is drawn and wan.
Your self-belief masks hidden grief,
while the thief of time moves on.

Submitted: Saturday, September 03, 2005
Edited: Thursday, May 20, 2010

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