The Stop on Western Street

 
       
 
May 19, 2017, 10:37 PM

He played his guitar
At the stop on Western Street
Where the buses and taxis
and all the people meet

He sang his songs
But never said a word
Only a few of those people
Really ever heard

He sang about love
And he sang about loss
He sang about the lonely
The coins they would toss

He played the blues
And played the rags
At quitting time
His songs were never sad

He played his guitar
At the stop on Western Street
Where the buses and taxis
and all the people meet

He sang his songs
But never said a word
Only a few of those people
Really ever heard

His songs drifted
To the skies above
He closed eyes remembered
About his only love

Tears came down some faces
When he played a deadly dirge
At quitting time
A foot stomping beat would emerge  

He played his guitar
At the stop on Western Street
Where the buses and taxis
and all the people meet

He sang his songs
But never said a word
Only a few of those people
Really ever heard

He counted his money
Smoked a cigarette
Sometimes they’d clapped
Some would never forget

He walked down the road
Not a picture of regret
The look in eyes
Said it was not over yet

He played his guitar
At the stop on Western Street
Where the buses and taxis
and all the people meet

He sang his songs
But never said a word
Only a few of those people
Really ever heard

He sang his songs
But never said a word
Only a few of those people
Really ever heard

 
     
jerry Joined Oct 10, 2015
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