In cart Not available Out of stock


I couldn't relive that day, ever since mon cher, Renee.
She was a mistress but her words were truth,
Older than the age of her shattered youth.
One trip to 'minster was a soft parade,
Shorter than the promise of an early grave.
I found out but I never tried.

Her eyes could light a Columbine, massive space around her spine.
Colonary embolism, borne from the thought of an intervention.
You got to break in the trigger, the kind that's shorn like a pheramone.
Sentiment's past and you're all alone.

Twenty-seven I think she was, Virgo 1981.
Her sentence slips but once a year, caught in the viscera of her modern ear.
The nautical collective head, enchante mon rouge, vous chet.
I thought I’d try, she’d never let.

Nous aurious, pu etre plus.