Hello, my love.
What do you do?
How do you spend
your Sunday noons?
Around the corner
in “Still Matter”?
I’ve been there once,
under the ladder.
So now, my love,
I don’t feel fine.
I have some thoughts,
they’re soaked with wine.
You bruised me much,
while you were leaving.
You sent me to
“no face – no feelings”
This side, my love,
is not an issue.
Being out of grace,
must say, I miss you.
So, have you heard
the same old songs,
which would have died by now,
we thought?
While we supposed
still be as one.
Perhaps, our love
had broke its spine.