Your love is like an ancient sin
our instincts often lie
to dying dreams that stink of gin
and offer no replies
The shapes that used to shift and move
before your sleeping eyes
have all but gone and disappeared
into your stormy mind
my child
my child
the end
is near
A crucified man
can't be attached
to anything else
Ernest we know
you haven't done a bad thing
but we won't tell no one
Clearly something changed
cause in that way
we met in crab park
on that cold
and that snowy
december day
so I said nothing
and you said nothing
and we decided to go
our separate ways again

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