Thursday, May 15, 2008

The Burger.

My car is sick.

It sits on a lonely street
a few blocks from my house.

The engine doesn't want to start,
it's a little reflection of me
when I give up hope.

And the window is broken
so when it rains
it gets cold inside.

And people are walking past it
and thinking it has been dumped,
it's a little reflection of me
when I feel blue.

It needs to be resprayed,
the paint is peeling
and the tyres are bald
but hey,
it plays music pretty good,
and it's got some books in it
and a few old magazines
and a towel
and a tent
and some gum boots
and some rocks and shells
from the places it has been,
it's a little reflection of me
and the places we've seen
together.

And we'll never give up
on each other,
me and my car,
though we might go through
some rough times
and those parking fines
are stacking up,
it's a little reflection of me
and how the world makes us pay
even for just sitting
on the side of the road
and watching everyone else
rush around this mad house
of money, it's a little me,
my car, and the smell of a rag
so far.

So far.

One day
my car and I
will sit Australian
idle in a paddock
somewhere
rusty in the grass
and happy in the hay
and one day we'll die
my little car and I.

But not today little car.

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