The Gieko and The Jones

The incense burns….
He sees the dollar signs in the giekos’ eyes as the cloud smote sun begins to rise
The story long and the music drawn out
Flattery like death to his ear
All he feels is to let out a raspy shout
The stinch of a cigar blows by his nose
and the tea is going cold
He knows it’s all just a pose
His pleasure will become his pain…and it’ll hurt
As he looks into those eyes realizing what they read is far from a flurt
He’s back out on the cold road
counting all the worthless miles he’s rode…getting hard and mean
through the street light shadows
in the steam of the gutter wickedness unravels
into a crooked man
Where his souls ended up far from a fruitful land
A smile as black as night comes back at him
and the reek of stale beer on his dress
the only way he can get any rest
the light in him is going dim
his poor lone soul is starving now
He’s the mule that pulls the plow
The tear runs down from his eye … as he feels all in him running dry
And the incense continues to burn

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