Wednesday Overcast

I heard you were back in the country Looking for me. That your heart was broken And your head was clean. Down here on the carpet Of stale smoke and rich dreams. In motel on Carmel, An empty stomach of weed. Left me a note explaining Reasons for your leave. Stuck here, no answers, No peace. A train to the coast For hours once a week. In the pub corner, Surrounded by creeps. They spoke of the violence And racist police. In old red bricks And ten cups of tea. This place was forgotten From history. I lay in silence Before we arranged to meet. The mirror was small and behind lots of trees. My head was empty, My life was discreet. A lot has changed, Now a lot means to me