Proclaiming Messiah

It's always truth,  isn't it 
sitting in the sun's rays
getting in and out each others' way 
watching the crowds go buy 
speaking on their black 
eating their berries 
and silly lunches,
sigh  

It's always truth, isn't it 
waiting at the station 
Holding tickets to places 
The sea of faces  
Listening to buskers
in the plaza of fire 
and the pacing cussers 
proclaiming Messiah   

Pen and paper notebook
Pigeon scum and chips hook   
cafe people look look 
eyes
spot the leaf left
On the ground  
bereft   

It's  always truth, isn't it  
To hear your conversations
in the Church of Annunciation  
sounding like my own 
crying in Spanish
And then you go and vanish 
 
Sitting in the sun's rays
getting in and out each others' way 
watching the crowds go buy 
speaking on their black 
eating their berries 
and silly lunches, sigh
It's always truth.  isn't it