She Bleeds For Brooklyn By Judge Burdon

​SHE BLEEDS FOR BROOKLYN
                
She lives with low rent day dreams, on no name backstreets. 
Dirty sidewalks made from quicksand concrete, 
There's no yellow brick road.            

In this city like desert without an oasis.
Hope a disease that breeds in places,
Where God wouldn't go.

In the air there's a stench the smell of desperation.
And lives are stamped with a date of expiration.
The Devil's grip on their souls.

Night crashes down with the sound of a train wreck.
She's on the prowl for love and everyone's suspect,
But they just leave her cold.

She cries with a sound that no one hears.
Her eyes lost their voice
Now she can't speak with tears
She wonders 'bout life on the other side of the mirror.

Kneels down for one more unanswered prayer.
But there's no one listening out there!

And she bleeds, she bleeds for Brooklyn
She's hemorrhaging lies and alibis.
She bleeds, she bleeds for Brooklyn.
Break free Persephone
Brooklyn left the front porch light on.

​

On an unseasonably cool July morning in Chicago, equivalent to Dickens' David Copperfield , Judge Burdon was born on a Friday. His mother theroized it was so he would be in time for weekend festivities. His fascination by the predominence of the written word inspired his study of English Literature. He attended Universities in the United States, London and Paris to continue his life's scholarship focusing on Victorian novels and authors. His writing career to date has been devoted primarily to poetry and songwriting. He is presently engaged in finishing his book "Imitation of Myself." A non-fiction story encompassing his experiences as a drug runner for a Mexican Cartel. Judge celebrated his 65th birthday last July and lives modestly in Costa Rica.

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