You don't need a bottle of wine.
Throw away your staccato way of speaking.
I've listened long enough.
Oh, I still love to listen,
your songs still reach deep down low.
So much so
that I've followed your way of writing.
A little pick-me-up
here and there just isn't enough.
I need more ups, not downs.
You're too sad, Lady, too sad.
I'd rather not cry.
You speak so true,
an honesty I've seen for awhile now.
You wrote and sang out your lows,
but where are the highs?
Too few highs being smothered.
Smothered by chords of sadness.
Let your progressions get stuck on glad
and, mighty soon, you will, too.
You're too sad, Lady,
too, too sad.
dedicated to Melanie
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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