Stephen Holland

(1958 / Wakefield)



My whiskey bottle
Lies on the floor
At the side of the brandy
I had the night before
I try to find some comfort
At the bottom of my glass
There’s questions but no answers,
My future is my past

So I’m here and my breaking heart
Is sounding like my guitar chords
Which seem to all end up in minor key
From the window I can see the sunset
On this day of pointless regret
I wonder what tomorrow holds for me
Just the same old sad eyed misery

My bedrooms my bed-sit
My family’s downstairs
I was thirty-nine and past my time
Not that anyone really cared
It happened to me at twenty-three
Then again at twenty-nine
Then once more in ‘ninety-four’
It echoes in my mind
All the time

I was a victim of my blinkered love
A victim held through her deceit
A victim of her age and of my lust
I was a victim of the hope that it would
All end up in pain for her
A victim of her lies and of my trust
Victim now my dreams lie in the dust

Submitted: Wednesday, February 09, 2011

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