You're here, somewhere inside of me,
and maybe now you've learned to listen,
because I can't hear you anymore,
all those sermons you would give,
a tide pulled away from my shores.
I remember how you came to me,
a vision in a summer dress, moving
with clumsy, girlish grace through
that hot city park full of drunken natives,
finding me laying on that bench, forlorn.
What I wish now is to return to Montreal,
alone. Then, I'll truly let go. Give up on
all the old fears; I have no more need of them.
I'll pull into that city, dress myself up in French
and then, with a little twist, transform into you.
No comments:
Post a Comment