Why?
Eskimo Snow
All of my words for sadnessLike eskimo snow on unmanned crosses allPlanted in threes in a field for living treesI hum these prayers in secretand sung them through speakers in rooms for people to hear itEven when I'm wasted and numbWith the words for good wine on a philistine's tongueAnd I'm under something blackand thicker than a sheet for ghostsin the first beat of snowThat old cloud's youOn the crosses on the chests of dead soldiers in a fieldand I'm still hereBearing my watery fruits if fruits at allAnd I'm still hereBarely understanding what truth that rarely calls
From Letras Mania