|
Autumn leaves that collect weight in the ashes of Summer |
|
Are cracked and broken by my intruding step |
|
Foreign thoughts that invade my questioning |
|
Of death's cold cold waiting |
|
No bait will deter the ancient stalker |
|
Whose colour I'm not sure of |
|
Who's walked between this park |
|
And with icy fingers prepared this morbid corridor of bracken |
|
To take my steps closer there all the time |
|
Then your fingers - hard and comforting |
|
Write softly through my hair |
|
All that we're afraid of in each other |
|
All that may die between us without death to take the blame |
|
To play games so unprepared |
|
To dance round fires unguarded |
|
Tears become blood of sorrow |
|
And my pulse keeps time so badly with the tune you play to me |
|
My steps down streets that remain unchanged but change so many |
|
Will just vanish like yesterday |
|
Don't think dark thoughts you tell me |
|
Yet all our fate waits prepared in darkness |
|
And my hand will fumble for the door |
|
Whose handle is too high for me |
|
Whose wood is from those mighty trees |
|
The trees that lay down their leaves so recklessly |
|
My light remains flickering in Autumn |
|
And musky smoke from blazing bonfires |
|
Will rise like incense from the funeral pyre |
|
In preparation |