With
my own hands
When
I make love to your memory
It's
not the same
I miss
the thunder
I miss
the rain
And
the fact that you don't understand
Casts
a shadow over this land
But
the sun still shines from behind it.
Thanks
all the same
But
I just can't bring myself to answer your letters
It's
not your fault
But
your honesty touches me like a fire
The
Polaroids that hold us together
Will
surely fade away
Like
the love that we spoke of forever
On St
Swithin's Day
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |