#7 The Gig

The gig is dead
The band died with the oil rig,
Now we got the electric city to chase after,
Head or the heart, which part will you take next?
Saw you in the winter, passed you in the summer,
Never did I expect to fall so hard, never could I ever
Want it any other way,
Bags are packed,
Ready for the train tracks,
On the couch nightly I wait for it softly,
Those nights at 4am, the soft slipping sound,
Windows were built and love was felt,
Mysteries on full tilt,
My sorrow cannot be built,
But it can be torn down,
My life has been spent on the freeway,
And oh how I crave the getaway on the
Jetway, how I ask for the bridge again,
To sit under it again,
The gig is dead, those friends are
Past yet they will always last,
The truth hurts underneath it all,
Anything good can always happen again,
Man’s curse is not his intentions but
The things he can’t control,
The gig is dead,
A new oil rig lives instead

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