Passing Afternoon

La vie ne devrait pas être un hasard ...

L’apitoiement sur toi même n’est pas vraiment ton genre …

Je me lance dans une tentative de haine et d’auto destruction



Et maintenant ?

Je pourrais rester là avec toi ..

Pourquoi ?

Parce que ça ne fait pas mal ici .. je laisse tomber … je n’ai plus envie de vivre dans la douleur, d’être malheureux

Et bien .. tu ne peux pas toujours avoir ce que tu veux

There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms

There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from the piles of fallen leaves

There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children until she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds

There are things we can't recall, Blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hers, rolling around the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned

There are names across the sea, only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the window closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone

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