Exile Blues

My home was nothing fancy, just a room and a half

A worn communal kitchen, a bookcase and a bath

In a requisitioned apartment that used to be a ballroom

I wandered through the cafes and the milk bars and the nights

Threw my words off countless bridges, let them swim against the tide



One day they came to get me, took me from my city home

I dream it from afar amidst the din of foreign tongues

A world of coffee and neon, heavens torn asunder

Standing mute on unknown bridges, I watch their rivers and I wonder



Will I ever see my city’s streets again?



I dissect other people’s stanzas for the girls sat in the crowd

They’re like the ones I used to run with but they seem so young and proud

I guess I’m just getting older

My exile heart still beating here a thousand miles away

And all the riches and the prizes just can’t keep these blues away



I curse the politicians and their bureaucratic slaves

Who separate me from my home with cold Atlantic waves

I close my eyes, I see the domes, the courtyards and the bay

My old mates tell me ‘welcome back’

I never went away