I met her in a bar up in Chicago
(The past is bright, the future’s tainted)
Where they sip champagne
If the grapes don’t grow
(The cart bites, the pony’s painted)

Al Capone tobacco blowing rings around roses
I risk the smoke for the perfume in spiralling doses
Her smart-phone is a mute and it has a thin skin
But she’ll talk to it tender when her options call in
And the futures begin

She clocked the tempo as the numbers were dancing
(Weak bananas, hashed potato)
To the news from the East 
And the South advancing  
(Chic sultanas lashed by tornados)

She counts the bubbles in the glass in my hand
Then instantly converts them into dollars and rand
She scribbles down the figures on a Post-It note
And tells me call her numbers if I want to sew some oats
And put the bread in a choke
Or just chew the fat
And get the buck out of that

Now I got a girl who likes her coffee grounded
And her cream on the rise and the sugar-cubes rounded
And the rice in the paddy and the cows in the meadow
Where every passing cloud casts a measurable shadow

Her past is bright, her future’s tainted

**********

Photo credit: href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/milletre/3054894492/">milletre

Coco Futures

Casual song-writer, slowly working on collection of original material ('Poncho Land') in collaboration with others

Just here to have fun and listen to your music. Share it with me please.
 This noise is all about Love and understanding, or something like that jibberish.  Racism and Sexism are not a part of my dictionary/vocabulary.
You are invited to lurk around in my misophoniattic mind for a bit. I love all music in every shape and form, as long as it has passion laced with insanity and a cut of recklessness behind it.
Become fearless in this crafted art while taking out of the box chances.
.Boredom is my enemy. I compensate for this by trying to work with every genre. Even without ears the body can feel fluctuations in sound waves. Without eyes our fingertips can read a story of bumps and groovy textures.  
          I am in love with sound in every form and shape.
Have you ever felt as though music has a flavor? What taste are you leaving behind?
Let me know with Your interpretations. I Love hearing new music from fellow musicians.
       .This noise is what I call Bawdy-Folk-mewsta.
.Or, more easily.... WARM blanket+Cold pillow. Created with whatever is laying around.

DISCLAIMER!: ( These sounds are only meant for the purposes of inspiration )
Thanks for listen en en en en.. Please leave a horrible demeaning comment for me, Peaces.

Coco Futures

Jeremy Freeson