dimanche 27 novembre 2011


i took the latch from off my door
and woe is me could write no more
i danced a holiday in france
drank with friends and spun romance
climbed up to sacré cœur at dawn
smoked cigarettes in the light of the moon
visited my buried love in the père
wept with the shattered dreams we share
then i came home again to rain
my little couch bed, my muted brain
the gray skies reflect a very sad song
but even then with anticipation
the floodgates are broken yet nary a word
there's no music in joy for this broken bird

kestral with broken wing

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