in the morning the lady puts on her mascara and eye-liner, her lipstick and rouge and suddenly she’s teetering on the edge of a made up empire with just the dreams in her head. I’m looking to step underneath your umbrella, Bella. Fellow artist making sense of our suffering by offering up a poem or a song. It’s been a long road and I’ve been lonely, like the pony express of the wild west, I wrote it all down, I wrestled with the drink and furious angel’s set fire to my paperwork