Sparks and Elgin
Blazing sun pierced through my living room and sparked my abandoned soul,
Such a night is for fucking, singing and laughing at more than your wrongs,
For tonight I seek laughter, company, a pint and a cigar,
And to win all the world with my song.
The happening corner of Sparks Street and Elgin
Keeps me alive till the morn,
Reminding me of a similar part of Toronto,
The polluted pigsty in which I was born.
For three years now I’ve been creating a company,
A network of artists each with heart,
Who are accused of having no money,
To the naysayer we just look and fart.
The whole town is rocked by the spirit of this terrace,
Where D’Arcy McGee once called home,
Here a drunk poet sits with a painter, author and vocalist,
But doesn’t know the definition of alone.
We entered the restaurant at a quarter past eight,
Each claiming the purest form of art,
The Whisky, ribs, fries and salad dressing gave us all added weight,
And threatened to take each man’s heart.
The poet claimed history dating to thirteen hundred,
His form still hot in school,
The singer laughed that print media is now virtually all dead,
But music can always inspire a fool.
The painter digs into the world’s most inconceivable and abstract,
Tools with which he creates life,
The author just whines he can’t negotiate a good contract,
Creating much unease with his wife.
The host started yawning and reached for his watch,
Saw that it was a quarter past three,
Their all-night debate was a sight to observe,
An artist like them is what he longs to be.
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