The Elm Leaf And The Comfort

I'll be above being your friend
And you should know that this is enough
The thought of you stands in my way
Again and again
Like a wasted day
Spent feeling alright lips against lips
With the night at the chime
And the sirens looking in to see what we are doing
Isn't that enough?
I could tell you all about the crimes of Alexandria
Or the reason I cried for Constantine
But you've too many thoughts
Standing in the way regardless
So here comes the walk
And the lonely train track departure
Would it help if I sketched out faces
On an elm leave in ink
And sent it sailing down the gutter
To fall down the sewers and into the causeways
Where our minds belong
Thinking of the deeds of those with love but no remorse
Do these men still exist?
Do they still conquer words with their deeds?
Does it matter anymore?
I could tell you why the gardens of Babylon died
Or why the lighthouse was burnt
But you are too busy thinking of suitcases and boxes
London and Glasgow
I don't know much about these cities
Clue me in and write a poem about their greatness
Or tell me a story about Byron and Wilde
But I know you never will
Intelligence makes you lonely
And art is a meaningless facet
That will never thicken your cock or wallet
So here comes the feet dragging
The bored cigarettes
Enough beer to cause a buzz and conversation
Polite and edging towards the bedroom
Where the evening lives all day
Sometimes I smile at the things you do
And you smile at the things I say
You could never read these words though
Or listen if I told you about what went at Actium
And why it means so much to you and I
Oh the smugness of comfort
And the walk of a local man
What do you think of when you are by yourself?
When you are falling asleep?
I could be beyond being your friend
But my mind is standing in my way
And I told myself that this would be enough
Again and Again
But as I rest my head against the thoughts of my own deeds
I know you will be thinking of something so distant
That I will never understand
I am the lighthouse that is falling
The garden that is dying
The Library that is on fire
You are the Egyptian fleeing
And I am trying hard to follow
But I feel like I am nothing but an elm leaf
Being thrown around in the stormy city drains