by Tamara Anna Pawlak
Photo by Lucas Leon/Unsplash
I’ll keep strumming and never reach the end. You’ll see my fingers bleed—the blood sliding down the strings and dripping teardrops from my fingertips...
I need to get me a guitar—get me a guitar so that I can play a sad song, a sad song just for you.
I'll tell you all the things, all the things in my sad song, my sad song for you. It'll be the one about the broken bottle and spirit and the way the waves crash against the ocean shore. In the song there will be a sunset and a sea where a heart is drowning. Oh, my sad song, my sad song for you.
I’ll keep strumming and never reach the end. You’ll see my fingers bleed—the blood sliding down the strings and dripping teardrops from my fingertips. You’ll throw a quarter in my hat, won’t you? When I play my sad song for you.
One day, when I have a thousand quarters, I’ll buy a ticket and leave this place. I’ll get on a bus and find another town, another ocean, another sunset where I can sing my sad song. I’ll keep singing until my hat overfills, and then I’ll return, I’ll return back to you—and sing until the blood runs dry.
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