The Folk Queen Dream of Sub City
By John Kaniecki
I’ve walked the avenue
Sown in the same rhythmic soil of fading blue
Streets submerge bellow bottomed out Lead Belly blue
Not the over pimped tax exempt jail bait whore
You performed a different score
Chords from your treasure box
Folk Rock
Hear the wind whistling harmony
You are never far from me
“And we’re still talkin’ about a revolution”
Suddenly your face appears in the magical music store
Microwave swift promoted synthesized solution
Late night t.v. shows
Career-choking tensions mount as accountants count
God only knows
Business blood leech bloated
By dingy dogs thrice returning to their vomit who noted
To the snorting pigs wearing Washington era replica wigs
Glowing, showing, knowing, first rowing at all your gigs
Yeah you’re a genius hovering, discovering a new Bach
Subtle black shadow of Folk Rock
Sell your soul
Be commercial
If the fine print chicken scratch
Ain’t DNA perfection match
You’re caught in a platinum plated hooked catch
You used to play for a meal
Faded jeans torn from life's tongue-slashing torment
Always a full blooded member of the tribe
At the back of the bus
Laughing loosing life’s lackluster fickle frown
Getting down
Breaking boards to explore tombstone homes vacated
Before the score another ‘sistah’ seriously hated
Cool lady, tiger growling, prowling
It's Vegas casino venture baby, house always wins, get it?
Don't let them carve up your song to fit their delusions
Forever
And ever
The Folk Queen Dream of Sub City
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