songs

Ritual

I waited for it to die

I counted on the clock to begin,

for the recall to weaken

emptiness to crowd in

I don’t know why. Could it be her pictures? Maybe something else.

 

I went back to into life

So busy,  so full of movement

I crafted new clever dreams

prepared to become vacant

I don’t know why. It has to be the pictures. She is like nothing else.

 

I’ve tried feasts and parties

Strange cities with beautiful faces

Traveled to monuments and mountains

but there’s so much time to waste

I don’t know why. It has to be the pictures. She looks like no one else.

It has to be the pictures.

It has to be the pictures.

It cannot be the woman.

That I could not bear.

 

 

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