A fairy tale for forgotten children
The story teller tending a dying flame...
As another sun rises
On another broken daughter...
I form these words
Beneath oceans...
If I were an ocelot
I'd spend my days catching flies...
I don't see you
Because you don't exist...
From this hillside
Covered in carnivorous roses...
Disconcerting conversations
The Gypsy works his disabled tongue...
I have met some beautiful people
Who have walked the same paths I've walked...
There is a man, no-one has seen
Whose eyes are a sickly shade of green...
In the afternoon in silence
In the place where I was born...
Remove these needles from my arms
Pull back the mask that hides my face...
A cut is as good as a rose my sweet
No gesture of love could be as neat...