I whistle a forlorn tune,
Of a time of blue suede shoes.
Guided by the Midtown moon,
I found my street of the blues.

Loves known in those Memphis nights
Are but lines found in one's rhyme.
Coffeehouse eyes in dim lights
Fade to back in the sublime.

Life plays on with its new verse
As there are lyrics to learn.
Though I am forced to rehearse,
There seems little soul to earn.

Suns pass to scripted ends;
What to be, I do not know.
Aimless upon these islands,
I long to be of ago.

As the sun's rote descension,
I too, am locked evermore.
There can be no revision;
The sun cannot change its row.