perhaps these hands held children's hands but what do they hold now? what love lay in this heart now silent empty, a broken vessel i've searched and searched
he has deep pockets and shallow veins the appeal of this is so obvious she is his anchor in that she holds him up he is her anchor in that he pulls her
"what do you see in me?" asked and answered honestly "nothing, you are just a skin to me. I think I'll name you 'trophy' why can't you see through me?"
thank you st. jude left intact and brought back, a little lees than before a little less inclined to credit where credit's due (help me help myself) a
Dear friend, dearly departed Please let these words mean so much more than they seemed, retroactively, for my sake more than yours. (The dead feel no
your search for patterns found me standing in line in avoiding compliance you fell into mine your good intentions are set aside build me up with promise
Rise and shine I got mine with none the wiser This bedpost champions an early riser and letters home tell no tales of conquests Great and so far between
In a moment of lucidity, you said to me: "Push this boat from shore. What I am now is past and with every passing moment I resemble myself less and less
Good things go for those who wait too long to say, but who's to say that this is the end. I am. This time we have permanence. This time we are separated
a chosen child choosing nurture over nature and this unnatural desertion because you mean no more to me than biology ingenuine genealogical, a broken branch off
Instrumental
This hand on this gun to my head is my own and these are my demands: If you leave me, take me with you, I am nothing without you. People who need people
she said I wish I was a man, and I said so do I she talks to herself around me I talk to myself around her this is my balcony scene stage it set script
post-morbidity, pre-mortality, the dying proceeds and the living intercede on the behalf of your best interests as we perceive them and so you sign this
I told the new me: "Meet me at the bus station and hold a sign that reads: 'Today is the first day of the rest of your life'" But the old me met me with
why can't it be me the charismatic lunatic they would flock, but rather pathetic projecting reflecting evasive and avoided this is self-loathing by proxy
Vertaling: Gilmour, David. Af Minor.
