You are free from the greed of your culture. You are free from the lust for the luster of the diamond houses in the city’s cluster – from your own ego, from your own blunder. You are already free.
Boys would fashion their emotions to the pattern of you heart. And I heard you wrote that record for a girl you loved but died.
I’m here sewing mine together, just hoping you’re alive.
And I know you’ll never come back now, to the world where people are, because you never understood what they loved you for.
Now ghosts they have their secrets, and they’ll tell them to a few.
So you can never pay attention, when they’re whispering to you.
There were many talents you possessed that I wished myself to have, but the way your eyes would gloss over, well I never envied that.
And I doubt you’ll ever come back now from wherever it is you are, because you never understood what we loved you for.
I’m sure the T.V. sets will tell us when someone reinvents the wheel. ‘Till then I’ll have a million conversations about shit that isn’t real.
But I’ll try to breathe in meaning, dig deep through every gasp of air, because I know you did the same thing for as long as you could bear.
I guess everything just circles around to where it was before.
So I hope I’ll see you soon, in some other form.
To sing to me your freedom song, to make love where there was none – alchemy. Now it’s all gone. She is the golden one.
It only feels worse when I stay in one place, so I’m always pacing around or walking away. You’ll be free, child, once you have died, from the shackles of language and measurable time. And then we can trade places, play musical graves – ’til then, walk away.
So I’m up at dawn, putting on my shoes. I just want to make a clean escape – I’m leaving but I don’t know where to. I know I’m leaving, but I don’t know where to.