Wild East (a song I wrote)

Floating down these crowded streets, Lost in this wild, wild East

I’m the worn father of one, (some things are better said than done)

wish she was still around, but she’s gone So I

Took my clothes and my son

and I said ‘boy we’re gonna run,

All the way To that wild, wild East’


And though it may be hard to see,

we are living finally

Please son, don’t feel so lonesome

these food stamps Don’t mean nothing,

cause the Atlantic and the Hudson

are sadly gladly calling out

Our names.


‘Boy these steel and concrete mountains

and these Rockefeller fountains

Are gonna bring us back to her somehow

I know.’

but when he falls asleep,

and he can’t hear his daddy weep,

Warm tears roll down my cheeks

I never knew that we could be so alone here

at center of this entire

American empire,

my God I’ve made a mess

it’s just as wild as the West


I’m sorry son I thought that we’d have peace

in this wild, wild East


About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry View all posts by marcofreschi

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