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The day… that it became… clear… was… the first time that I saw you for the 150th time, but can you blame me? I was reaching, reaching… halfway across the Atlantic Ocean. The place… it socked my square jaw face… my toe had dipped to rate and you grabbed me, in up to my waist. Contrary to unpopular opinion, the water was welcoming warm, and we slid easily, wrapped up and reaching, reaching… halfway across the Atlantic Ocean. GONE, GONE, GONE: I have enough rope when you’re gone, gone, gone. The oven’s cozy when you’re gone, gone, gone. Prescriptions filled when you are gone. The time…I grope to find that there is no sign… with bottomless hope, I’ll dive. Then, I will swim ‘til my limbs are numb and dim, With a paralysed hip, I’ll slip, fingertips to sea lip. Eternally reaching, more than halfway across the semantic ocean. GONE, GONE, GONE: I have enough rope when you’re gone, gone, gone. The oven’s cozy when you’re gone, gone, gone. Prescriptions filled when you are gone, gone, gone. It’s cocked and loaded when you’re gone, gone, gone. My knives get sharpened when you’re gone, gone, gone. It tastes like almonds when you’re gone, gone, gone. The traffic’s playful when you’re gone. Take flying leaps when you are gone. Autoerotic when you’re gone. See, I’ll be fine when you are gone. |
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