Mail Call
'Tis Monday at noon when the guard walks in
With the inmate mail clutched tight in his hand;
He slowly but surely walks past each cell,
And reads off the names of those getting mail.
As he slowly approaches, I can feel my heartbeat...
Until he passes me by... there's no mail for me.
This happens daily, for a week, and then two...
A month passes by, still no letter from you.
People are laughing, making fun of my fears -
Saying "There's tomorrow - or maybe next year!"
How can they laugh? Don't they understand?
Has there been no one else to the place where I am?
Daily the guard passes me by,
And others laugh, while I hide out and cry.
Is it so hard a thing that I'm asking you to do?
To write me one letter, one letter from you?
It would bring joy to my heart, and a smile to my face,
And help me for a moment, to escape from this place.
After all, it's but paper, and pen, and a thought...
Has the time that we've shared accounted for nought?
'Tis Monday at noon when the guard walks in
With the inmate mail clutched tight in his hand;
He slowly but surely walks past each cell...
Will today be the day that I receive mail?
Marcus Lewis
June 8, 2008
With the inmate mail clutched tight in his hand;
He slowly but surely walks past each cell,
And reads off the names of those getting mail.
As he slowly approaches, I can feel my heartbeat...
Until he passes me by... there's no mail for me.
This happens daily, for a week, and then two...
A month passes by, still no letter from you.
People are laughing, making fun of my fears -
Saying "There's tomorrow - or maybe next year!"
How can they laugh? Don't they understand?
Has there been no one else to the place where I am?
Daily the guard passes me by,
And others laugh, while I hide out and cry.
Is it so hard a thing that I'm asking you to do?
To write me one letter, one letter from you?
It would bring joy to my heart, and a smile to my face,
And help me for a moment, to escape from this place.
After all, it's but paper, and pen, and a thought...
Has the time that we've shared accounted for nought?
'Tis Monday at noon when the guard walks in
With the inmate mail clutched tight in his hand;
He slowly but surely walks past each cell...
Will today be the day that I receive mail?
Marcus Lewis
June 8, 2008
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