August í78

One day last week I met a friend
It was on a subway train
I pretended he was someone else
I did not know his name

I read in the paper Marilyn Monroe died
Sixteen years ago today
I thought of writing a song for her
But I didnít know what to say

The wind blows the curtains of my room
But it does not reach me at all
I hear music from far away
Beyond the garden wall

She pokes her fingers in her ears
She will not listen to me
As birds fly through the purple sky
And plunge into the sea

She said we were not friends at all
She wore her plastic mac
I cried I was invisible
I never did come back