It’s getting hard to tell apart
My head from hell,
My melting heart:
A puddle on my driveway,
A stain upon my shirt.
Please just run away —
I don’t want you getting hurt.
Celtic music, felt-tip pens —
The little things of there and then.
Whispers and whistles of another time —
Lost to rhythm, lost to rhyme,
Lost to losing daylight now.
The scent of skunk, a cooing cow:
Little things to separate
The new, the old, the far too late.
The screen in my window’s still down —
no wonder it’s so cold up here.
You’d think I’d know better, a house this old, this time of year.
And here I thought I shivered for the stress,
I’ve never been religious much —
My Faith is in the trees.
The sort of Lord I worship flies among the Bumblebees.
And my idea of Heaven is buried ‘neath Her leaves —
I didn’t get out of bed this morning for twenty minutes
Lying in the dark in hopeful ignorance
Then I see my mother in the hall and I’m six years old again —
She has bad news —
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