Each wood board is a step deeper into the promised land,
Sun smiles over the charming seaside town,
Winds whisper age-old secrets,
As it whirls through the ruins of the Casino.
Bicycle wheels spinning like a ferris wheel,
Grazing the eroded floor of teal and coral tiles,
A mermaid giggles beside me,
Smirking at all the more she knows than me.
Inside these two remaining walls lies an untold story,
A story of glamour and bliss and endless summers,
A young girl dancing with her soulmate,
Across the teal and coral tiles of life.
The familiar faces of strangers grin as they pass by,
But my soul is enthralled,
By the palace staring directly at me, begging me to peek inside,
I couldn’t help but smile that I was home.
Green embellishments accent the Convention Hall,
Its glass doors swing open to anyone who cares to listen,
To listen to the stories hidden in its foundation,
Stories that shook the boardwalk decades before.
Panned windows illuminate the hall’s Grand Arcade,
Employees welcome customers like family,
The massive brick building conceals promise,
As it gleams with pride over its city.
Across the street stands the history of rock n’ roll,
The Stone Pony hosts bands old and new,
The bar layered with rock relics, walls coated with electric guitars,
That, with a single strum, could start a revolution.
Cookman Avenue bustles with life,
Except one lonely building on the corner, “EXTREME” displayed on its sign,
Missing letters so it read “EXTRM,”
In this dump lies the greatest memories of all.
The third floor created a rock star,
Locals know him as Bruce,
Some dirty teenager who rocked hours into the morning,
For a dozen fans smarter than the rest of the world.
And as legendary a name as he is today,
He remembers one thing and carries it with him,
Carries it in his back pocket with his guitar pick,
To never forget the town that built him.
He keeps vivid memories of home close,
Ferris wheel spinning, carousel turning,
Waves roaring, speakers blaring,
The wild, the innocent, Asbury Park, New Jersey.