miércoles, 16 de septiembre de 2015


We walk around pretending
That everything is fine
We are struggling, trying
To make belief it is all great
We tell ourselves and convince others
That everything will be sorted out.
Nothing is wrong
And what is wrong is a dream.
And everything is perspective,
That grey cloud is pink
And it won't rain but gold drops,
That sour throat is tickling
And the heart-ache is a whim
The bitter taste is funny
And death is far away.
We think but we don't say
We feel but we don't show.
And all we say and all we do
We're careful it be not true.
Don't say it even in whisper,
Behind the closed door of the heart
The truth is lonely and cannot find anyone.

1 comentario:

  1. Unfortunately this shows with the date of today, when actually I wrote this a couple of weeks ago as a draft and decided to post today...