This is all so far removed and foreign
Our gracious voices dwindled to a lull
You once read me verses in old forgotten English
From paper thin like tracing sheets, all fragile
You wrote me lines now creased and tucked into the top drawer
They’ll survive at least
I didn’t cross the sea to repeat the small hours
I missed most the jests and tomfoolery
And I drifted down the vast streets and tower blocks
And in your absence it became transitory
I thought it best to scrap the paper, cap the pens
Cause conversation’s futile when its hollow
And we aren’t to meet again
Words are a weapon
So carefully sharpened
And thrown when the bottle runs dry
Though Scotch is a seller
Of falsehoods and fiction
Know I still had a hell of a time
Loss is a creature you can’t outrun
Like a bear on hind legs
Or men with guns
Loss is a creature you can’t outrun
Like a bear on hind legs
Or men with guns
Loss is a creature you can’t outrun
Like a bear on hind legs
Or men with guns