Brick Road

Walk down a street carrying a bag of tricks like a magician

Hoping not to break a step among the many millions.

It’s old and it’s beautiful and it can’t take the stain

of parlor tricks performed in dingy theaters without refrain.

A short walk and all the while hoping to turn the red and grey

to blinding green and golden;

Do you have a wish or is it all the while broken?

Do you perform a job you hate every day,

swindling sweet purses from those for your ill-gotten gains?

Do you get called ‘liar’ every show in few by some broken-hearted teen

or cynical, miserable ewe?

Does your show get fewer listeners every time you play,

or is it slowly turning belly up with every single say?

A fortune doing what you love seems a dream come true,

but only if you’re earning which you never seem to do.

And you walk a road that’s rough on your feet to every single tragedy

just to make ends meet.

Do you just go out with a whisper in the poverty,

nameless or moneyless for all without exception?

Is there no avenue left to greet

when all the taxes go to well-maintained roads

and all dreams die in the street?

Hear the street performers play happy melodies for dimes.

Hear the green grocers sell their wares with a melancholy shine.

Hear businesses crowd streets in the mix with wares not meant to share.

Hear souls goodbye that can’t take the costs they bare.

See a bloody brick road from generations past never change at all

while the buildings and the people leave against the call.

End a thriving market with many people all around.

Change it to a cul de sac with the only store: Chevron.

ISA

This is original format.