Middle Of Nowhere

King of Words

He’s the middle of nowhere man,
wandering soul in no-one land,
his loneliness is just like yours and mine.

On a throne of nothing wood,
fingers gripping, eyebrows hood,
dripping tattered verses in the rain.

King of old, your kingdom,
crumbled long, you’re clinging,
to a realm, that only exists, in our crazy minds.

Putting words together in his
crazy king mind weathering the
storm of what his subjects scream to him.

King of words, creep softly,
through those halls, held lofty,
in the minds, of dreamers and lovers and poets and I.

Lord of middle of nowhere land,
building ideas in the sand.
Isn’t he a bit like you and me?