mount wroclai

poem about a song

i see many beautiful things in this song
a churhcyard here, a singing wineglass over there
played by a girl with a curious finger
as her brother watches
this is real music, she tells him.
while the sound fills my ears
i forget for a split second, that i am alone
the walls around me dissapear into the night sky
along with me and whatever self of mine
that i decide to bring along.
france, for some whimsical reason, is the place i picture
but no internet cafes or eiffel tower
just people, beautiful people
well, beautiful women to be more precise
but thats just my dick doing the thinking for a second
all i really want is for the song to play forever
even though it hurts a little
and it forces upon me this notion
that i cant have that view of mount wroclai
-wherever the hell that is-
until much later; this song is telling me
that i cant be in love
that i cant leave this godforsaken town
that i cant drive a f*****g ferrari
and that i can never really move on
from my peers who have now forgotten me.
this song is telling me that i cannot live
until i stop being a coward.
where is that girl playing the wine glass?
i suddenly want to kill her.