Water sliding down a spring Creep of quiet night Seconds drag I let out a yawn And I don't know if it's Just me being tired Or an ache in my breast But it's not fair, dear You could be sitting behind me Or in the next room Upstairs Next door But your cold kilometres climb Upon my mind And I find Myself stuck underground Quite quiet My room looms incomplete Would that I could Change the slow sombre show Into an easel of skynight Put my fingers to your lips To stop the words you can't say Not laying here Mumbling through mittens And your letters lounge in my head And leave me dead or dying red And the water sliding down is red In the quiet creep of night

BACK -- HOME