1967 or 2017 – 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 rugged 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.