Thursday Evening

written 25.2.2025 - 3.3.2025 (during a whole week of working remote)
Last four lines written 13./14.3.2025

Thursday evening, quarter to ten:
I, fly on the wall of an apartment
Between the station and the industrial park
Where people like you and me don't go outside after dark
A man in his forties comes in through the door
He hangs his keys on the board and picks the mail from the floor
And when he reads their latest letter, you can hear him laugh
'cause for the first time in his life, he feels he's had enough

Joey McCoy was a clever man
He said: You can't shake hands with a severed hand
And then he went to the woods and never came back
Another one's over the brink

Sunday afternoon, half past four:
We peep through a window on the second floor
Of a nice house with a garden in a suburban street
Where the sidewalks are clean and you say hi when you meet
A girl with brown hair watches TV
With her eyes half-closed in an American dream
Anything she ever wanted she would get, it's true
Except a smartwatch and a pony and a friend or two

Little Elaine was a bird in a cage
Maybe a little too smart for a girl of her age
One day, she set fire to her shirt in a rage
And left it to burn in the sink

Monday morning, it's almost eight
Only breadcrumbs are left on the breakfast plates
Daddy is leaving on a business trip
Mommy holds out her cheek, and he kisses it

And then he drives along the road and waves his kids goodbye
Takes his phone and dials a number once they're out of sight
With a smile in his voice, he says that he'll be late
And that he'd rather have her now and that he just can't wait

Terry Malone was one hell of guy
But well, after the years, he knew well as to why
It takes a full-grown man to tell them a lie
Without so much as a wink

When I pass the doors at night
They whisper: Come right in, it's warm inside
But if I ever go looking for a new life
I won't find it here, I think