Year 1967 or 2017, 18 or 68 years old –
it’s the same story now as in the past.
I’m left on my own alone with my books
and my poetry and love is still a fallacy.
But I’m not a rejecting island or a rock –
if I ever were.You played so beautifully
on the strings of my heart and you can
do it again, if it’s your desire. But you
better sing out now, because I’m not
going to do it for you. It’s up to you if
this is a goodbye.