Do you ever walk just a little off pace?
And take a look at a strangers face
Point in case:
It's Sunday morning
And I'm crossing the park
It's only about an hour after dark
Still fresh
The cold breeze seems to bite at my flesh
I turn my collar up
My face is far from impressed
Then I pick up something from the corner of my right eye
It's a white guy slumped across a bench
Suited under a business mans trench
I recognise a... alcohol stench
Man looks tired, he's staring into space
And has a pensive but sullen look painted on his face
So I change pace yet I don't speed up I slow down
Drawn to the sorce of the force behind his frown
I sit down
He looks about fifty-five
And as we sit together in silence... there's no-one else alive
It's like a scene from some placid apocalypse
Him with his vodka lips
Me with my headphones
We sit and breath the mornings dead tones
People still in bed tones
Sleepy yet appearing clear in head tones
H-Hmm, I cough
And for a second I think our bench might take off
Like a spaceship made of concrete and wood
It's all good
As he speaks he turns to face me
And I notice he has a black eye that I didn't see before
I see more than the average quota of worry lines around his eyes
Which are deep, sunken and dark
Two strangers meeting in the park
Stark differences and appearance but
There's nobody here to judge
'You should never hold a grudge' his voice is gravelly
And wisdom unravels me so I try and stay focused
I ask him what he means
He says, 'We spend too much time awake to be ever concerned with dreams'
He looks older than he seems
And has the aura of a man coming apart at the seems
You know what I mean?
'Whats all good then?'
Thats my next question
He says, 'Try stepping out to look in, that's my suggestion'
I say, 'Well, that's all good and well but you can't go through your whole life in third person can you?'
His face changes
Position re-arranges and what's strange is; I'm getting more and more intrigued
Both of us fatigued and yet we proceed to discuss the difference between what we want and what we really need
We all bleed even if we never see it
So take heed or else you'll blink and then you'll be it
The person
The thing
That which you hate
And the ones who say it's never too late
Have never lost
Strive for the best in your life
At what cost?
Kids you hardly know, wife cold as Jack Frost
Embossed, raised questions printed on bones
That never crossed the mind of a million clones
I ask him, 'Is this then a means of escape? Last bastion of manhood, a beautiful poison grape?'
He says, 'Don't be dramatic. I'm just here for a drink and my thoughts.'
'I think now-a-days you call it "me time"'
I say,' I know what you mean. Room to breath and be time, close your eyes to see time'
He says, 'Yes'
Now there's about three feet between us
And if you'd seen us you might of thought this was some seedy pursuit of penis but
All it was, was a meeting of two souls
One young, one old
One warm, one cold
'I hope you don't think me too bold,' I say, 'But is there a chance you become passive as a way out?'
'Failing to see a day out seems common in the unsure'
An empty house bilt on bad foundations
He says, 'Let me tell you something, contentment is a myth'
'But what if?'
He cuts me off, 'I didn't finish. Let me tell you something, contentment is a myth... if you have regrets'
I say, 'Well don't get upset, but no shit Sherlock. That much seems obvious'
His eyes move forward become less hideous
As the morning Sun rises
He asks my name as if he doesn't know
I said, 'They call me PolarBear, but my birth certificate says Steven'
'Ah Steven, Steven. He who is non-believing'
I say 'No.'
'Somebody told me that Steven means king and if I know one thing it's that a middle-aged man's inebriated generalisations should go no further than his piss stained throne'
He hears the change in my tone and adjusts himself in response
Ensconced in his own state of mind.
I find myself thinking, did i ever know this man and did he throw away his plan
Or was he genuinely wronged?
Not sure I ever know
But any and either way I know it's time to go so
I go to stand up
And as I do he puts his hand up and 'Hu-ahah' clears his throat
'So what's your philosophy? What's your ethos? Do you believe in Jesus and the good in all men? You haven't seen anything yet.'
I look at him
His collar wet with sweat his face wet with tears now dry
'All I can do before I die,' I say, 'Is try to keep my eyes my ears and my mind open and if I do that there'll be no need for hoping or anxieties about coping with life's oh-so many obstacles'.
'You're young,' he says, 'Time changes a man'
'Time changes everything,' I reply, 'I have to try and change myself'
'So enjoy your drink and your thoughts and as you add up the ones and the noughts be sure to allow for the future'
He offers his hand
To shake it
Do I take it?
Of course I do
I can't begrudge this man anything
But as I walk away from cold concrete and wood
I feel somewhere between good and not so good
Yet nonetheless inspired
The thought grows in me that I could be pre-wired to share that same fate
Whether early or late I could wake up in that same state
On the same throne of the once great
Maybe
Or maybe if I remain bold I can break the mould of it all grown cold and breath out the false promises told
I dunno
I hope so
A dog barks
Just as I reach the edge of the park
And for the snap back to reality I'm glad
'Cause you know every epiphany feels like a gift to me
As I glance back at my distant old Dad



Lyrics submitted by selfishisgorgeous

Sunday Morning song meanings
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