The girls in summer dresses
Are strolling in the streets
The man you ask the questions
Hands out answers just like sweets
But he answers you in riddles
That don’t make any sense
And the girls all merge together
In colours so intense
You see her standing talking
You’ve waited seven thousand days
You call her name out wrongly
When she turns it’s not her face
You know it’s her striped jacket
You admired it for years
She looks at you and walks away
But the stripes have disappeared
Your friend who stands beside you
He is dating your lost child
He tells you it’s quite normal
To have your memories defiled
The house you live in isn’t yours
You don’t know the address
When your lover comes to breakfast
She can’t ignore the mess
There’s a lady showing people round
They don’t even see you there
They say that they are moving in
But you can live beneath the stairs
Your friends and lovers talk to you
You can’t understand a word
You tell them that it’s all a dream
They think you’re old and quite absurd
And to echo Karin’s comment, it hurts in between the lines as well.
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Between the lines is the hardest bit to write.
Merci, cherie.
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🙂
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Please will your brain to science – you are brilliant and I don’t understand why you are not King of the Elephants. All kidding aside, you are so smart and talented that I’m in awe of your writing. Thanks for entertaining me! Nan 🙂
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AnElephantCant comprehend this
Which is a quite unusual thing
Of all elephants
Only he has pink pants
So are you sure he is not already the King?
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This hurts in all the spaces where I’ve so recently been living between similar lines…
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AnElephant understands.
And thanks you for understanding.
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