Red Rose, Black, Words and Music By Brian McCaskill

Words and Music by Brian McCaskil

I forgot the money.

Running on empty on empty sheets over golden streets and half-step beats that suffer defeat through sour high stakes and cream puff cakes that only takes your bet while you forget the set, though you get what you get coming through the storm instead of safe and warm, when I was born, and shapes are formed over capes of flowing silver in the garden of Eden, he stood pleading at rock of ages and Christmas stages and written pages locked in cages falling down over Elizabethan castles with crimson fingers on fire hands on flaming arms over icy hearts that never part but try and start to get thrown to beasts who own the east and loan the feast to the unwelcomed guest who had the kid and wish he did kept his head fed instead of way ahead of the class who, through painted glass, and deep blue grass, made the pass on the right side of the fence at the expense of coincidence.

June, 2002