1 November 2012
Where are you, Mr. Goodman? The maple tree
outside my bedroom window has lost all its leaves
and the puddles on the streets freezes to ice,
the cold is creeping into the walls that embraces
the rooms, there I walk around with you on my mind.
Where are you Mr. Goodman? Is the sun shining
at your place? Are you happy or sad? Are you really
suffering from not being with me, as you said?
Or was it only what you thought I wanted to hear?
Are you a phony who makes a laugh out of me?
Where are you Mr. Goodman? Bleak November
is now here. The TV is my company, News and Shows
with chatter and faked laughs in a Brave New World.
Will you ever tell me your real name, Mr. Mystery Man?
Or am I only a distant enticing whisper in your ear?
Where are you, Mr. Goodman? The full moon
at nights illuminates the silver strands in my dark hair.
You said you wanted to put my name on the rainbow for
everybody to see how much you love me. But all I want
is you to be real and coloring my life with your love.