I was just bony hands as cold as a winder pole
you held a warm stone out new flowing blood to hold
oh what a contrast you were
to the brutes in the halls
my timid young fingers held a decent animal
Over the ramprts you tossed
the scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
tired to a brick, as sweet as a song
the years have been short but the days were long
Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
we fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
when our kite lines first crossed
we tied them into knots
and to finally fly apart we had to cut them off
Since then it's been a book you read in reverse
so you understand less as the pages turn
or a movie so crass and awkwardly cast
that even I could be the star
I don't look back much as a rule
and all this way before murder was cool
but your memory is here and I'd like it to
stay warm light on a winter's day
Over the ramparts you tossed
the scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
tired to a brick, sweet as a song
the years have been short but the days go slowly by
two loose kites falling from the sky
drawn to the ground and an end to flight
