Jul 2019
I’m not sure which is more pleasurable
The last ounce of sugar on my tongue
The echo unsung
Or the quiet words in perfect unison
Sung, a most capable accompaniment
The kind which doesn’t make me feel alone
In the silence of a broken room
Your song sings words to the reticent me
Make me feel both old and new
The last ounce of sugar on my tongue
The echo unsung
Or the quiet words in perfect unison
Sung, a most capable accompaniment
The kind which doesn’t make me feel alone
In the silence of a broken room
Your song sings words to the reticent me
Make me feel both old and new
Words really do mean more at night, like a song.
