I got shallows running deep baby

You got no soul, he whip cracks, I must’ve hip moved cos the whip flicked by…
I got no soul?
Maybe baby it was worn out, those long summers in the city, falling in love with each pretty woman in a thin summer frock bathing in my love as they frothed the pavement.
I got no soul?
Could it be the dead end jobs, hustling for pennies on the pound, pressing the oiled hydraulic lever to push out just another dark rubber grommet, waiting on people who’d rather I wasn’t there and sending drinks to the waitresses while I did their job and mine?
I got no soul?
Sleeping with women who were too scared of rejection to tell me in sheet stained nights that they had feelings other than their body offer for me, scared of their daddies so they burned me instead, scared of their mommies to let go, feel the lust inside, scared of what people might think to make a noise in their love?
I got no soul?
Was it walking the dark English night, silent intensity, nowhere to go, call home, hoping for salvation in the next hitched car to take me somewhere, everywhere, an adventure, anywhere, black emptiness inside never ending despite whichever fag end town I found?
I got no soul?
Tight rooms burdened by tired furniture, wallpaper curled sweated walls of loneliness, the bottle, drugs to ease and waiting for a new day that might bring a new something to the pity party, swirls of half readable words penned before dawn.
I got no soul?
Friend faces I forgot, life stories I heard of lives so other than mine, wars of love, hate, the mean that we do to each other just because we can, want to, enjoy. Maybe baby, I’ve mistaken these deep blues and yeah, just mebbe, I got no soul.

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