More unsung heroes...
© J. Patrick Sharpe
Lyrics by J. Patrick Sharpe
Music by C.F. Truman
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fiogf49gjkf0d The wino that used to live beneath my stairs
He held stories in his clothes that hung in layers
He took comfort in the squirrels
And the smiles of little girls
And the strangers that offered him their prayers
He had visions—yellow dreams of dread
That merged gently with the songs up in his head
The nurse straightened out his sheet
And asked, “What do you want to eat?”
“Nothing special” was all that he said
There was a girl that I loved from afar
They found her in the back seat of her car
Her last teardrop was blue
And it landed in her shoe
Her mother’s picture was stuffed into a jar
She was alone, never to be wed
So she hung around with her TV friends instead
Though the words caught in her throat
She scratched out a little note
“Nothing special” was all that it said
Just two weeks ago he phoned to see how she was holding up
Before he melted away again back into life
And she thought to herself as she looked out across the garbage cans
At least the sewer rats come back every night
The old professor was sitting in the den
With a mangled heart and an essay in his hand
When they blew the final horn
His students lined up to mourn
It was wisdom never to burn again
His remarks were voluminous and red
They seeped in to the brains he overfed
No big trophies in his room
So they wrote it across his tomb
“Nothing special” was all that it said
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