Ten-Cent Jar

It may have been ages ago- that song that I heard seems yesterday sung
It was always you on a stage, with a face made of glass
And a voice made of silver champagne
I never did ask you your name

It may have been seasons ago-
the leaves may have died like the heat in July-
but I’d never seen the river that low
it was a dry heat that night- maybe my watch was too tight-
but the time seemed to pinch at my wrists-
saying why don’t you tell her-
but these lips stayed as shut as my fist
wrapped tightly around my fingers
figures
I don’t have the mind or matter for that sorta thing
I’m just a two-penny poet with a broken wing

And you’re wings aren’t clipped like mine were-
I think it was ages ago-
You stood on that stage as I stood in my cage
And it’s hard to break free with them punishing me
For the things that I’ve yet to have done
All the saints in the world couldn’t save the soul of this girl
I’m just a pilgrim making notes in the bible
Twirling the cross on my thumb
waiting for some kind of sign
to come

You’ll always be on that stage- singing songs about no one-
I’ll always be ten feet away not knowing where I’m goin’
They say that love in patient, they say that love is kind
But that's not the kind of love living in this heart of mine-
And I’m a fool
To think that I could coax you passed these bars I stand behind
It’s freezing cold
When you’re hearts been sold
To some old gypsy on the road
But it’s better off in a ten-cent jar, than sitting here at a one-man bar-
Besides it only beats for you-
What good will that ever do?