Saturday

Saturday always comes too late
waiting for something that never came
torn between the door and gate
why keep it a mystery when you can see it
a mile away?

I guess it goes to show that no mater how old
i am told to be, and no matter how young
i i feel i need some type of why to keep me
tounge and cheek

And i guess with you the anger suits more than
the hurt
a million miles between concrete and dirt
bypasing airwaves yet you never got the option

why do i keep any door or gate open when
you give me a sense of fiction a pleasing
sense of everything we were denied with
road signs

i keep one in my trunk to remind me of
soliciting illicit things, imposibly complicated
you go on with your life that crossed mine at the
wrong time
and i'll look up in the dictionary for another reason
to justify saturday syndrom

close but not quite
accepted but denied
i could not miss you if i tried
yet i dont and dont know why