Yellow Cat
Late December Reflections: A Tale of Solitude and Fading Roses
Lyrics
It's late December the new years never coming
It's late December, and the new year seems distant and elusive.
Time passes slowly in a two room walk up flat
Time moves slowly in a modest two-room apartment.
The sun is silent
The sun is quiet or obscured, possibly reflecting a somber mood.
As a cold rain gonna come on
Anticipating a cold rain that is about to fall.
No one to talk to
Feeling isolated with no one to converse with.
But my lady's yellow cat
Seeking companionship in the form of my lady's yellow cat.
Rain drops talling on the flowers
Raindrops are falling on the flowers outside.
In the window box
Noticing plastic roses in the window box, planted recently.
Plastic roses that I planted yesterday
The roses, despite being plastic, are already withering.
I didn't think it does too soon
Underestimated the passage of time since planting.
But there all withered now
Observing a trend where everything touched ends in decay.
Seems like everything I touch
Expressing a sense of frustration or disillusionment.
Turns out that way
Reflecting on a recurring pattern of disappointment.
Well I guess I'll just go walking
Contemplating going for a walk as an alternative to talking to the cat.
The cats no good tor talkin'to
Suggesting that the cat is not a suitable conversational companion.
He are don't know what I'm saying
Indicating the cat's inability to understand or respond.
And the rain is always
Emphasizing the persistent influence of rain on the narrator's thoughts.
Playing on my mind
The rain is a constant presence in the narrator's mind.
On my mind
Reiterating the preoccupation with the rain.
Street lights driring through the blinds
Describing streetlights filtering through blinds covering window panes.
That cover window panes
Highlighting the interplay of light in the environment.
Blending soflly with the bare lights over head
Noting the blending of streetlights with overhead lights.
Then together
Referring to the intertwined visual memories of lights.
They run swiflly through my memory
The memories swiftly running through the narrator's mind.
And every image of a strange and empty bed
Recalling images of a strange and empty bed, evoking loneliness.
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