ISSUE: Autumn 1982
Days since you have gone
I wear my sad shoes,
True suit, a same face
Fitted now with false
Hair and hope as glue
To keep the mask in place.
I wear my sad shoes,
True suit, a same face
Fitted now with false
Hair and hope as glue
To keep the mask in place.
No one dies of love
(Not anyone we know),
Nor the lack thereof.
I will die of habit,
Risks that I refused,
Sundays, and two sad shoes.
When you hear this sung,
I wonder will you wonder
Was that one the one who
Days before these ways
We went. . . . But by then you’ll
Be sad and I’ll be crazy.