(Life appears to have some cruel design upon me today, and I’ve had to cobble this post together while riding in a car. I hope this work manages to be more than the misspelled product of a deranged mind.)
We’re different, thee and me,
we’re different, can’t you see.
My heart is burned out ash:
You’ll blow soot in your face,
and rekindle nothing.
My heart is ash, burnt lime.
Then I will say goodbye,
my silly clown, goodbye.
Let gentle dreams surround,
and find some solace there.
I bid thee dream, darling,
and find your heart again.
The heart cannot be found.
No harmony abounds;
The dreams escape the night.
Yet sun will rise anew.
The light’s a battle drum
raising the dead to life.
Tale Told 