Bryant M. Alama Music

When your heart is a-hurtin’, and your car isn’t working. Thought you were certain, lost your words in the wind. Now all you can do is look for them. Maybe find it in friends, their mouths and their heads. Until you hit a silent streak and think, "that’s it". No more gold in the creek, no more profits on the street. As weeds grow through the soap box you see your chance to speak up, but your nerves got you shakin’, and now your words just aint makin’ since. Kid, you need something different. So you play an old album, you read a new book, and sometimes it works. Minding the artist like a lecturer, you live your life by lessons learned instead of what you feel. Now, I don’t know which is better, and I probably never will. To climb the hill,or sit by the window sill? But stillness will drive you mad. The rust,dust,and death, I’m not for any of it. O! to be seventeen and optimistic. Has the world broken me in just four years? Has even poetry become arithmatic? Is there a method to our tears? I refuse to believe! To tell me the mind and these nerves are any less complex than the universe is something so absurd that it shakes me to the core and makes my senses roar; hacks the water from these lungs and has me gasping, but not for this air. No, I’ve had plenty of that. So you start walkin’ and you start to relate to these people you will never meet. Your dreams speak of railways you’ll never see, and you start to think about destiny. Instead of asking "why me?", you start looking for harship and you beat the shit out of your soul. Sleepin’ on floors, gagging gulps of booze. Wake without sleep in the morn’, cocaine and bitter truths, and walking. Walking towards another shade of blue.Bryant M. Alama.
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