Diaries of the Dyer Street Dynasty: A description of the random happenings and visions of my late-night drives when I can't sleep...
Part I—the Re-Introduction
Her hair and spirit’s blowing…she’s moving with the wind…
On a crooked path she’s strolling…Smile twisted like a sin,
Bluffing the cards she’s holding, knowing that with them she can’t win,
Not knowing where she’s going…just only where she’s been
Wishing she could stop the tolling…the church bell’s deep dark din
Although I can’t recall her name, there’s something familiar about her grin.
In another life she was a school yard friend; but the visage, not the spirit transcend.
Her lips are red, her heart is blue…
Life is tough, and love’s untrue…
The cards you needed weren’t the ones you drew…
But don’t despair, just start anew…
Dyer street dynasty, the Queens of the Night, dancing alone in the neon lights,
The chains binding your soul are about as tight, as the confines of your sight…
Those that clip your wings and keep your soul from taking to freedom's flight,
Are swarming all around you, watching-- waiting, for you to stop the fight.
Her blood runs red; she’s black and blue…
The words he spoke just weren’t true…
The makeup covers the pain in you…
But raise your head; I’ll fight for you…
I can see the years within your eyes, and I come to know your fears simply through your sighs.
You need not speak about your trials; they’re written upon your face—hidden behind smiles,
We sit and talk-- my anger starts to rise; seems as though we’ve only just met but I’m compelled to pumble those guys;
The ones who abused, beat, misused the sister at my side; the ones who cannot seem to tell anything but candied lies.
Mangled monarch-- defiled duchess; stand to face the ones that transgress,
Mind not the mouthy maidens--the bible thumping jury, or the pulpit speaker’s fury.
These Sunday Morning-only Christians, would do well to mind their own perditions…
For the Father and Son live with love and lead by example; not convert by lead-footed trample…
Midnight maiden, come walk in the light.
Understand that we all have demons to fight.
Finger shaking and gossip making, no one has that right;
For in the end, when truth be told, no one’s got it all right.
Blood runs red, and tears flow in dark blue,
Who are we to pass judgment on you?
To say that one is completely honest--is itself, untrue.
Dry your eyes, show your smile—there’s still much hope for you.
There’s a life on the streets beyond the don’ts and dos.
Where you go and what you do, is completely for you to choose.
So while I’m pleased to meet you again and make this introduction,
I hope to never again see you at this dim-lit intersection,
At the crossroads of hell and limbo, of dark secrets and introspection…
I knew you before you fell in this, so I know who you are upon further inspection.
Remember the good life long gone,
And realize that it can still be won.
In the middle of these vultures you don’t belong
Your parents miss you, so hop in friend—I’ll drive you home.
Part I—the Re-Introduction
Her hair and spirit’s blowing…she’s moving with the wind…
On a crooked path she’s strolling…Smile twisted like a sin,
Bluffing the cards she’s holding, knowing that with them she can’t win,
Not knowing where she’s going…just only where she’s been
Wishing she could stop the tolling…the church bell’s deep dark din
Although I can’t recall her name, there’s something familiar about her grin.
In another life she was a school yard friend; but the visage, not the spirit transcend.
Her lips are red, her heart is blue…
Life is tough, and love’s untrue…
The cards you needed weren’t the ones you drew…
But don’t despair, just start anew…
Dyer street dynasty, the Queens of the Night, dancing alone in the neon lights,
The chains binding your soul are about as tight, as the confines of your sight…
Those that clip your wings and keep your soul from taking to freedom's flight,
Are swarming all around you, watching-- waiting, for you to stop the fight.
Her blood runs red; she’s black and blue…
The words he spoke just weren’t true…
The makeup covers the pain in you…
But raise your head; I’ll fight for you…
I can see the years within your eyes, and I come to know your fears simply through your sighs.
You need not speak about your trials; they’re written upon your face—hidden behind smiles,
We sit and talk-- my anger starts to rise; seems as though we’ve only just met but I’m compelled to pumble those guys;
The ones who abused, beat, misused the sister at my side; the ones who cannot seem to tell anything but candied lies.
Mangled monarch-- defiled duchess; stand to face the ones that transgress,
Mind not the mouthy maidens--the bible thumping jury, or the pulpit speaker’s fury.
These Sunday Morning-only Christians, would do well to mind their own perditions…
For the Father and Son live with love and lead by example; not convert by lead-footed trample…
Midnight maiden, come walk in the light.
Understand that we all have demons to fight.
Finger shaking and gossip making, no one has that right;
For in the end, when truth be told, no one’s got it all right.
Blood runs red, and tears flow in dark blue,
Who are we to pass judgment on you?
To say that one is completely honest--is itself, untrue.
Dry your eyes, show your smile—there’s still much hope for you.
There’s a life on the streets beyond the don’ts and dos.
Where you go and what you do, is completely for you to choose.
So while I’m pleased to meet you again and make this introduction,
I hope to never again see you at this dim-lit intersection,
At the crossroads of hell and limbo, of dark secrets and introspection…
I knew you before you fell in this, so I know who you are upon further inspection.
Remember the good life long gone,
And realize that it can still be won.
In the middle of these vultures you don’t belong
Your parents miss you, so hop in friend—I’ll drive you home.
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