In the attick

a world of its own
a world to own
a world of tales
a generation of play
in the attick

I'm there takin' a share
in the mysteries that came
over me
I 'm almost in retreat

I open up a book
a life is uncovered
from long before
showin' youth
once more
In the attick

I feel young
I feel ten again
good times there
don't feel age
in the attick

so I leaf
through the books
see the toys
dream a little
in the attick

memories a pleasure
sometimes a treasure
sometimes worse
when you were hurt
or more

It was a life
that lived
come to see it
as a gift
in the attick

(c) JR. eightees

A place to live

I can still hear that violin play
it was across the road in the inn's
attick it stayed had a lonely sound
the cry of a lost hound

it stuck with me for a long time actually
for more than a while, I travelled along
on a road more than long

'till at the end of the line I reached my
home town with all the pines where patiently
waited my bride

at my wedding night it played  for me
for the last time it was never heard of
again only when my first child came

its tune now a happy one it played at the
beginng of dawn shimmering lights wandered
across the fields after that the violin's tune ceased
to be

now an' then I try to whistle it again how much
I wish, it doesn't come to me again it must
have as I did found its place to live


(c) JR. 2015