I was always turning around to see
who was behind  me
and there in lies the danger
and so the past holds me in its arms...

...the tip of your cigarette glows in the dark.
(the light without a flame)

you are sitting in a chair.
I m sitting in a chair.
we don't speak.

that is my everlasting memory of you.

the fire had taken flight.

you bought books and never read them.
you always used too much perfume.

I had no time for you, lonesome dove.
my heart of sand,
but thunder now follows my heart,
with the perfume of things lost.