sexta-feira, dezembro 22, 2006

morning glory (a christmas tale)

Landschaft (Jean Frédéric Schnyder)
I lit my purest candle close to my windowhoping it would catch the eye of any vagabond that passed it byand I'm waiting in my fleeting housebefore he came, I felt him drawing nearas he neared, I felt the ancient fearthat he had come to wound my door and jeerand I waited in my fleeting house"Tell me stories," I called to the hobo"Stories of cold," I smiled at the hobo ■ "Stories of old," I knelt to the hoboand he stood before my fleeting house"No" said the hobo, "No more tales of time""Don't ask me now to wash away the grime""I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb"and he walked away from my fleeting house ■ "Then you be damned!" I screamed to the hobo"Leave me alone" I wept to the hobo"Turn into stone," I knelt to the hoboand he walked away from my fleeting house
(This Mortal Coil, Filigree & Shadow, 1986)