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Might have been otherwise
I think of it sometimes
The ritual, the give and take
Mirrored in the things we say
Fuschia burns a summer road
Asphalt melts as we watch
Absence can you feel it on your skin
Porcelain alive eyes still
Leave me to my own imagining
The spectacle, the mannequin
Waiting as night leaves blood red crescents in its wake
Inevitable end to what we made
Nothing’s ever meant to stay the same
Isn’t that the way of it they’ll say
Isn’t it the way of it always
When I was younger, a watcher on the side
Did I do it right?
Birds play havoc in the hours before dawn
Could have been otherwise I
Believe in it sometimes
The ritual, mistakes we make
Mirrored in the things we say
Eaten by the very words we sow
Salute the magpie, shoot the crow
Waiting as night leaves blood red crescents in its wake
Inevitable end to what we made
Nothings ever meant to stay the same
Isn’t it the way of it always
Isn’t that the way of it they’ll say
When I was younger, a watcher on the side
Did I do it right?
Birds play havoc in the hours before dawn
