Do not follow me down.
Montreal
I don’t need your strength, to pull me along.
So scared I’ll lose you to the glass.
But your lips will recollect that taste, on the table where the love we made was lost.
Tell me where I came from.
Cut off both my head and hands, so nobody will know who I am.
But the great gods have spoken…
Through some fault of our own, we fell.
You have grown young, in your old age.
I’ve heard that Faith is a comforting thing.
You spoke in the voice of an older man.
We stopped at the edge of the road.
And I held on to the sleeve of your coat.
