We pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and try continuing.
I have grey hat that makes my eyes look blue
And four hundred and sixty three books gathering dust
That swirls in the evening sunlight, as it always was.
I launch myself into the evenings, the night is better,
The days are getting longer and smothering us in light.
I wear dark glasses and hide in the corner of the pub
Waiting for the bitter sun to fade away.
At midnight I come home and dance in the dark,
I dream that I am flying over the city alone
But when I wake my hands are clenched in fists,
Head thumping and churning stomach sick.
Whiskey in your morning coffee makes you warm,
But the Winter is nearly over. I need to wear leather gloves
So I do not touch the filth of the world, perhaps I can buy lace
In summer colours, so it does not seem so strange.
There are four thousand and seventy six paving stones between here and work,
I am careful not to step on the cracks between them. Cobblestones are harder
But I am trying to come up with another arrangement.
Can you come back now please?
Afterwards, I carefully saved up every moment,
They are bottled and waiting in the corner, when you return
We will open them and let time flow out, it will be like music.
I do not make big wishes anymore.