(this is from us.)
serenade no. 1; you with your restless eyes
you spoke of something coming, maybe you knew it had already crawlen inside.
there is something secret about you, a perhaps kind of sorrow. it is not palpable but sitting so close i see the moth-holes in your sweater, you are distant.
someone will try to tell you, someone will turn and try to sell you water & stones.
your boots dance weightless across maple floorboards. you tell a joke and it is not funny. you weave such tapestries on steinway strings to turn the world symphonic.
you spoke of something coming, maybe you knew it had already crawlen inside.
there is something secret about you, a perhaps kind of sorrow. it is not palpable but sitting so close i see the moth-holes in your sweater, you are distant.
someone will try to tell you, someone will turn and try to sell you water & stones.
your boots dance weightless across maple floorboards. you tell a joke and it is not funny. you weave such tapestries on steinway strings to turn the world symphonic.
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