He sits there quietly,
This elderly man who knows so much of me,
He sits there quietly,
Listening to the me I want to be.
Never does he say a word,
So I call him Jean,
He just nods and watches pigeons peck,
I wonder of all he has seen.
Everytime I ask him,
He just shakes his head and waves his hand,
I know he's almost out of time,
His hourglass almost out of sand.
Often I see him at the bar I work at,
Drowning his sorrows in his drink,
I never go to comfort him,
Just wash the dishes in the sink.
I want to know so much about this man,
Like a friend I never had,
But he says not a word, not a peep,
It's not all that bad.
He sits there quietly,
This elderly man who knows so much of me,
He sits there quietly,
Listening to the me I want to be.
I ask him time and time again,
Where's his family, his kin?
But he only points to the ground,
Making not a sound.
I want to yell at him to speak,
For I know he is so weak,
I see it in his eyes and the shaking of his hand,
Soon he will leave this land.
"Tell me something about me," I plead,
It's now not a want but a need.
He simply smiles and throws some bread,
I wonder of the thoughts going on in his head,
He looks so pitiful with his hair a mess,
And if he'd stop drinking he'd not feel death's kiss.
Everyday I ask him one more time,
Why he won't speak, what was it like in another age and time?
He doesn't say a word and gives instead a silent goodbye,
As if he knows when he will die.
The next day I went to the park,
The day dreary and dark,
He was not there,
I went to the morgue,
He was here in this place of dispair.
I held a funeral for him,
The least I could do,
For only a few people came,
It was my time to go.
There on the park bench I wept,
for the friend in the suit of pale gray,
The sidewalks remained unswept,
Old and unique in age,
Like a story turns a page,
I pick up the box and dig a hole,
Knowing that inside it the secrets I wanted to know,
I put the box into the dirt like my friend,
Never to be opened or looked at again.
Up there I swear
He sits there quietly,
This elderly man who knows so much of me,
He sits there quietly,
Listening to the me I want to be.
