Thursday, August 16, 2007

The Run-Down Rooming House of the Soul, part 2

Here are some wonderful sounds from Miles Davis & John Coltrane playing a remarkable version of SoWhat - Enjoy & slow down for a few minutes...

The Subterranean in The Run-Down
Rooming House of the Soul


The Subterranean lives close to the ground
with the outcasts & the desperate ones
in dark alley-ways & dead-end streets
entombed before dying living
in perpetual darkness in dimly-lit rooms
out of the reach of sunlight
over-shadowed by Glittering Towers of Glass
having been sent into exile
in his latest incarnation
becoming a refugee bathed in
bleak visions of dreams twisted
ripped apart by wild dogs in this
run-down rooming house of the soul-

The Subterranean needing to be close
to the ground smelling the black tar
of the road breathing in exhaust-fumes
of busy city traffic rumbling by
needing to feel the hard concrete
of the sidewalk under his feet
watching the feet of others passing by
the little window of his basement apartment
finding used hypodermic needles of junkies
used condoms of prostitutes
who ply their trade just around the corner
on warm summer evenings & frost-bitten
dead of the winter nights in this run-down
rooming house of the soul-

The Subterranean going for a stroll
late at night mumbling to himself pretending
to be frothing at the mouth mad
passing through gauntlets
of young men who might be thugs
the desperate turning on one another
willing to rip-off anyone even the Subterranean
of what little he has trapped forced to listen
to the man in the apartment above
in drunken rages beating his wife
all around the house
keeping their six year old son in fear
nightly replaying this old Punch & Judy show
in this forgotten run-down rooming-house
of the soul-

The Subterranean watches the old
child-molester holding out a helping hand
to naive young boys & girls in need
in return for sexual favours
pays rent to the caretaker
a paranoid painter who adds a series
of white crosses to every canvas
lectures tenants on Christ
returns to his room embattled in heated
arguments shouting at his invisible tormentors
throughout the night hearing the popcorn-thief
creeping up the stairs & along the hallway
completing his nightly ritual
carrying bags of popcorn
taken from a nearby video-store
after three am they give it away
believes he's conned them again
hides his booty stock-piling
for the upcoming apocalypse
in this run-down rooming-house of the soul-

So see you around,

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