PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Couple in the next room bound to win a prize

They've been going at it all night long

Well I'm tryin to get some sleep

But these motel walls are cheap

Lincoln Duncan is my name

And here is my song

Here is my song

My father was a fisherman

My mama was a fisherman's friend

And I was born in the boredom and the chowder

So when I reached my prime

I left my home in New Maritime

And headed down the turnpike for New England

Sweet New England

Holes in my confidence

Holes in the knees of my jeans

I was left without a penny in my pocket

I was about as destitute as a kid could be

And I wish I wore a ring so I could hawk

I'd like to hawk it

I seen a young girl in a parking lot

Preaching to a crowd

Singing sacred songs and reading from the bible

Well I told her I was lost

And she told me all about the pentecost

Seems that girl was the road to my survival

Just later on the very same night

She crept to my tent with a flashlight

And my long years of innocence ended

Well she took me to the woods

Saying here comes something

And it feels so good

And just like a dog I was befriended

I was befriended

O what a night

What a garden of delight

Even now that sweet memory lingers

I was playing my guitar

Lying underneath the stars

Just thanking the lord for my fingers

For my fingers



-words from Duncan by Paul Simon