" i die for you,
and you alone,
you are alone,
life's too short,
to be playing games,
the light was on,
door unlocked,
they'd find me,
piece of cake.
the water on the floor,
it'll dry,
no reason to cry,
it's only water.
the shock was fast,
like a jab at the heart,
nothing i haven't felt before,
before you never liked toast,
no toast now,
except toasts to living,
you living,
leaves leaving,
fall all the time.
especially when autumn winds blow,
stems grow tired of holding on,
ride the easy lane,
eighty-five and no cops,
cops don't understand,
those who see would.
you with no clue,
room with no clue,
'cept this picture of you in my hand.
sorry,
didn't mean to get it wet."
2 comments:
i may say i really get to see a more personal inside to who you are.
this is beautiful piece and i can see why you would use the death of marat to accompany it.
i see what you are saying.
i remember as a kid how much i loved art and wanting to learn as much as i can. i had to be in grade school still when i first learned about this painting.
the back story of how marat was stab in his bath tub by a women. he was use to siting in it for hours though because he suffered a
disfiguring skin disease.
kudos.
dee
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