The ecstasy of memories past
Of a broken Saint in misery.
I should stroll by your house
See the flickering light on the street
And make amends with
The ghosts of tomorrow.
It’s cold and blue
Like an exiled thought.
Perhaps a little fire will
Heal the punctured wound.
Because it is only today
That I call for this war
In terms of reconciliation
And voices betrayed.
