I ve been awake. Not sleepless like Hollywood boys. Just awake.

Yesterday is seeking for images of an invitation lost in past.
A sip of whiskey buddy, a sip of life with a suitcase in my hands.

Poisoning ideas of a man which chased some broken eyes. Daily activities in a sociability which has lost its smell long ago.

Smash, gold which left prints in my hands, some stupid ideas of a romantic fool, of an old man born in old times with old senses and tired occasions.

Counting the time till the end comes, smiling often to absurd, using useless words for friends, I am not gonna like you anymore while you gamble.

Awake. Not sleepless like Hollywood boys.

Fine things, articular sentiments, drawn in a bottle.

-You must always don't lose more than you gain my friend.
He said that old drunk to me this night which was snowing while we were drinking in that old wine bar with faint minds and free hearts.
-I ve kept a special cognac for the occasion
-30 years old, three star cognac used for funerals. He smiled.
-This is the night. Smiled again.

Another one faint face, through the fog of my misty eyes, smiling at me.

-In Amsterdam all is ok.... and he kept writing.

A room full of a land with no kings. No princesses. Just a goodbye to the autumn rain and a heart full of knockings of luck in a door which is closed long time ago.

Awake. Not sleepless like Hollywood boys.

Countless sips, nobody is sure where the fear lies.

Faces in turns. Found myself in the corner.
Sometimes to lay in a hood is colder than the snow falling on you.
I am singing my downtown

Play with me. You have my official permission.
Make sure that I will fall again from your window.

I've stolen so many rainbows till now.

Say goodbye to the climbing of madness.
Say welcome to the green fields of your lost hopes.

A sharp snake full of nightmares will come to knock our dreams.
Wait till the moment is right, till the dark is cool enough to exterminate it.

The drugstores always got yellow lights, rain always smells like sour taste.

The sips still got power. The sips still got brain.

Awake. Not sleepless like Hollywood boys.

Suspicious music I listen and cry silently in your thoughts.
-No more gambling buddy for me. He said.

Next day lost his life in a last bet with mr. Death.

Awake. Not sleepless like Hollywood boys.
Listen to the sax sound...let me dream about my broken bottle.

by George Tzouvaras

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