The Painting of Tom Gallow

A lyrical poem about a sad inanimate object

He feels like a shadow

That ol’ Tom Gallow

Moving through the emptiness of time

He’s frozen with a look

Left gazing with a book

Open with memories far behind

And he’s crying

Oh, he’s crying

That ol’ dark fellow

That ol’ Tom Gallow

Brooding with an endless need for cause

He thinks of the crimes

And learns to deny ‘em

Raving to the onlookers awes

They relish in his pain

And it serves to hurt his pride

They see the dust and stains

But never search inside

So he’s crying

Oh, he’s crying

See me, the fellow,

Who met ol’ Tom Gallow

Long enough to know him, for sure

I saw his story

I measured him perfectly

Hearing his cries

And listening to them, mostly

Pouring his heart upon to me

He wanted to break the frame

And hide the chips in the paint

But I detested the sorry man

And now he’s stuck alone

Without a friend

So he’s crying

Oh, he’s crying

That pissed, rotted fellow

That ol’ Tom Gallow

Ready to leave his life of chains

He’s going to shatter his frame

And bring doom to the eyes

He’s marionetting the others

For a justice full of lies

For there’s nothing different

And not a thing that’s new

For the pointless blood and guts

With hearts that are not true

And now he’s stuck in this world

Where nothing lasts forever

Not a thing he could do

No matter how clever

So he’s pissed

And he rots

And he continues to die

But he lived

It matters not

To him if he dies

To him this is a dream come true

To live a life of blood and sinew

So the paint continues to chip

And with his final words upon his lips

He thanks the painter

For giving his life

Now he dies

Now he cries

Oh, he cries