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and there's a memory in your heart |
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and it's a terrifying thing |
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it remembers all the people |
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all the people you've betrayed |
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and the people that you failed |
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because you were not brave enough |
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or you panicked and you ran |
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or you were not brave enough |
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and there's a poem about a creature in the desert |
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who's squatting naked on the ground and eating something |
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and the poet adventurer who finds him |
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asks him what it is that he's eating |
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and what it tastes like |
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and the creature looks at him and says: |
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'it's my heart, and it tastes bitter, |
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but i like it, |
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because it tastes bitter |
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and because it's my heart' |
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and it's funny how it breaks |
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and it's funny how it breaks |
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and i am never brave enough |
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and it's funny how it breaks |
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and it's funny how your heart can be breaking |
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for a hundred thousand years or more |
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without ever actually breaking at all |
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or it can break in a moment so small |
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that they don't even have a name for it yet |
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sometimes they call it a heartbeat, but it's much quicker than that |
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sometimes they call it a heartbeat, but it's much quicker than that |
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and it's funny how it breaks |
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and it's funny how it breaks |
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and i am never brave enough |
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and it's funny how it breaks |
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where do the nights of sleep go to |
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when they do not come to me? |
