The world is breathless.
All your days are spent grey and
vigilant by the keyboard, but
all this time it is the remembrance
of melody that haunts me
(and I'm sorry for not apologizing.)
Once a upon time I made you a
promise with watery eyes and sleepless nights
(won't you hold me to it now?)
Sooner or later everything grows cold,
grows stale, grows up and gone. Quit
Gethsemane – I can't stay awake
all night. Remember, the final transition
was from minor to major.
- everyonelikes to think they're above it all.
(& if I told you it was good enough, would you hold on?
If I always kept beside you, would you cease to wander?)
Turn back. The world is breathless
only because all this time we have been afraid to inhale.