The emerald stones embroidered into this pouch glitter
by the light of the flames that engulf this city
a baby shoe, tied in a bag of silk
hangs delicately round my neck
my pendant to bring me back to you one day
the sanctified emblem of hope:
el zapato de bebé de una niña robada
a locket, the other half of which you carry
my two identities lost in a crusade de fuego y sogas
One, the baby taken
The other a woman stolen
Mort à la pute! une sorcière! le gitan doit mourir.
my sentence carried out as you watch
just moments after we reunite again
only to have to say Dja devlesa!
My face lit by the burning cathedral
Then slackened by the tightening rope.

Will there ever come a day where I drown you in my words,
you sinking up to your ears in my grievances and tales
of sheer mediocrity?
Will there come a day when you cry out and beg me to be silent;
and since I am too shocked to know what else to do, I fall so?
Will there come a day when my endless tales become the bane of our love?

Can we just lie here forever
With our eyelids heavy,
fingertips light
arm behind head
chest against chest
Breathing rhythmically together,
exchanging silent words of sweetness?
Your metaphor for love
rings like a bell in my ears
as I trace the contours of your body
with my fingers, enjoying
every moment.

Notre Dame is burning
This we all have seen
But Notre Dame’s been burning
For longer than this dream

Families and their children
Have worshiped in her halls
But families and children
Were stolen by its falls

Notre Dame was sacred
For worship and for song
But Notre Dame’s not sacred
As it had not been for long

Maybe this magestic falling
Is what the world must see
It’s this tremendous falling
That may set the children free

Worship moves with ages
No building must we *****
Elaborate walls do serve to hide
Wrongs we can never correct

So mourn her burning if you feel
But spare us the unending plea
For Notre Dame and her ***** deals
Must end before eternity.

Did Doorthy kiss the Lion's snout
when she parted ways?
Did she lay her fingertips on the cold metal
of the Tin Man's breastplate
Or run her hands through the straw hair
of her friend, the Scarecrow,
Before departing with her slippers back to home?
Did she ruffle her skirts
when the Wizard blew away
most likely to be caught in another Kansas storm?
Did she shed a tear for the melted Witch
and let it fall into the puddle of water and robes?

So must I kiss you goodbye
when the time comes for me
to leave our sanctuary and find my own
far away from the land in which you entrapped me?
Must I pat the monkeys that hung waiting for me
to try to escape your palace?
Must I bow to the guards standing sentry
at the front gates of this prison
where I relive my horrors again and again
watching the movie of my memory replay on the walls
as if projected by a machine meant to remind me forever?
Must I wave my tormentor goodbye,
shielding my eyes as I watch you fade into nothing
into the sun setting over my captivity?