.

for all around there is a song that still hums

a wistful tune in melancholy tones,

no one quite knows the hand which strums,

who shed the tears? who broke the bones?

there was a singer beneath the statue

they say not quite so long ago

who once again dreamt of us few

and would have loved to see you go.

—

it was in bed, it was in blue,

each other’s sheet, each other’s new,

the rose is red, the violet’s blue,

powder is sweet, wish she was you.

she can feel her fingers in her hair,

she can breathe her perfume in the air,

yet she cannot help keep an eye on the gear

that seems to keep turning year after year.

—

were there a god inside of us all

what then is he waiting for?

what then is he yearning for?

surely simply for the hammer to fall.

is there still a soul behind this heart?

when all the roads have been taken

when all the paths have been trodden

must they only lead us apart?

---

eye for eye and tooth for tooth, and turn the other cheek

…

the dirt inder your nails

pretend like it’s the first time