empty street

empty street, where the streets have no name
changes, like the flickering of day to night,
glaring light to the smooth velvet of dark,
felt most as you are having that slow cigarette outside...
soon we will walk along a truly quiet corridor,
souless, and peacefully lonely...
that kind of peace i would rather not have,
remembering to the inner marrow of your very bones,
the warmest comfort of the nicest noise and mayhem you ever experienced,
in one small narrow dimly lit alcove of music and lanterns,
cds and sandwiches, beer stubbies(lots of) and juggies,
stained with exact memories and blurred emotions,
hey, at number 47 you can be god for the night...
i know, that white knight and his little miss red let me -
i played all the tunes that i thought i would only hear at home in my room real late at night
all throughout their hobbit hole and spilling out into the bare and disenfranchised street
loud and clear and booming and delayed and equalized - all at once -
only to have nothing but rabid hugs and careless grinning 'hahaha i never knew you liked that too :)' they were mad... they were the beautiful ones...
the parade that gave the palace its very life -
i will shuffle my steps like there were cue prints on the floor,
from console to bar to door to wooden chair to the bitumen of the road...
come on down to number 47... even after white and red have swept off on their magic carpet,
whatever it becomes, it will always be haunted - by the people that lived there -
and i mean LIVED - like life was a damn mango to suck on, chew up and spit out
in melody and a gusto of beat and bass, on the face of the person next to you.
they say a place is only haunted if the past was a tremendous passion...
this is true of number 47.
it was a passion - of music - of people - of drink - of merry - of talking -
and loving...
most times, on any given night, you get all of the above,
all at one go, its crazy.
the only tangible thing i have from it all is all the mates i hang out there with,
the rest of the beauty, as they always say, are the fucking intangibles...
it is always sad when good things come to an end




p.s. on a lighter note, a few of us couldnt use the loo coz a couple was making out in it and outside of it.... guess they felt like they were at the right place and the right time...it was their first time at number 47