A Year At the Chelsea
Edie cries for everyone, thrown into bins
Dylan cried the blues
Joni parted yellow curtains
At The Chelsea this afternoon
overpaid prophets,
socialites and sattelites collide.
Take me away
bring me back to that Chelsea.
Broken free will combusts,
change your frame,
carry a shudder
but hold on so tight,
grasp irrelevant notions.
Keep everything at bay,
when the facade crumbles
you'll fall apart.
Nothing keeps you up.
When you were living in The Chelsea
I would walk by everyday.
When the glamour of it fades
you are empty and gone,
your blood wont flow
and you'll break down.
When you realize you aren't whole anymore.
Twenty eight, seventy one.
Faded.
When you trust too much.
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