Waiting On First Class

Waiting On First Class

They ride first class car of the American train.

They wear their tears like beautiful ornaments of hard earned complexity.

Then there's me, riding in the back

shouldering the pain on a hunched back

Trying to lighten the load

with a primal blast.

It's my inner child that never got her say,

before she had to evolve to be his girl in May.

I can blame the other side

So my failures don't sit up right.

Instead I just sit in the sand

You throw apples and oranges into my homeland.

Darling don't you know I'm a class unto my self who always plays the last hand.

I could steal their good looks,

Mock their sunshine,

or do what Momma says

and throw my nose back to the grind.

After all I was born for a reason.

Make sure their immigrant blood

wasn't spilled in vain.

I've got a job to do

among mice and men.

I've got a job to do

with no formidable plan.

Live well, be well and don't make no fuss.

With no where to ride,

I could build my own bus.

But with no where to ride,

I'm counting time pieces and payments in kind.

So I'll cry in the dark and wait for the sun,

to tell me first class is empty and done.