You don't want the sun to shine in, so you turn the curtains down. Your eyes still don't show me a thing, and you don't feel it's sunny outside. You don't want no joy for a while, but you stay up late at night. It hurts you that she's still alive, so you'll raise flowerbeds inside.
But she will not get bothered at all -- she's just watching the water at fall -- so you should give them just what they need: water and poetry.
(But you won't say you're not adored by her beauty, Celia inside)
You don't want to feel her at all, but who's that fellow-man of hers with who, your dear Celia, moved? And they'll sleep happily inside.
But you won't say you're not adored by her beauty and her purity, and her lovely Celia inside.
 dyejob · Fri Feb 02, 2007 @ 09:21pm · 0 Comments |
