Ola, la la. You played The Corrs’ Old Town

As you crawled towards this boy

The afternoon hid in you–

Flash and yearn, the great tears

Or I must say you hid in his armpit

What he had to say melted upon reaching his moist parted lips

And the words were but a long wonder breath brushing your hair

He concluded that silence is a friend of love heavily bored–

And that the beauty of the cratered heart can only be viewed in awe

The night is ill and no one touches the Dead Stars in your eyes


Little or nothing.

I have to leave you before you drown this town

Blinded with the loss of summer

I won’t say I understand you;

We can only be at the mercy of many Difficult Loves


Little or nothing. 

The night is ill and you with this boy in your room,

Deep cuts, hollow wounds. The Corrs know what they are doing;

You can stand still at her door, but what does the morning have to say?

Neither pounding nor calling, staring the sun with rage, burning the eyes



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