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lyrics

2 // Dying Dreams
Like an old abandoned Ford factory you sit cold and empty
save for the chill, still lingering, from those dying dreams

Oh a single feeble fist, tightly gripped, underneath the table, does not resist, when you insist to bitch fits about your sister
Aren’t we just a little bitter? Talking shit when you’re not with her, jacking off like a ticked off teenager.

Oh yes I confess you are quite fine, not unlike the bite of an old white french wine, but you get passed around like cinnamon schnapps at a high school prom, getting sipped by tipsy chicks and jockey kids in their well kept kakis,
Their legs and lips getting tangled like bangles

Like an old abandoned Ford factory you sit cold and empty
save for the chill, still lingering, from those dying dreams

On my second night in Brooklyn, I got caught on Coney Island at 3 am looking for something besides this dimly lit science fiction,
when I saw two thin Russian women, walking and I followed them down to the ocean, they were toastin,
Their empty plastic glasses clicked in time with their timid kiss

Like an old abandoned Ford factory you sit cold and empty
save for the chill still lingering, from those dying dreams

credits

from Where the Moon Meets the Lake, released March 7, 2016

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Cam Girard Richmond, Virginia

Cam is an eclectic singer songwriter. The Mid-West raised him, but now he calls RVA home. Listen, enjoy and share!

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