(Is it right or fair
To keep everything locked
In a treasure chest
And keep the iron opener
Hanging on a cord
Around my neck
And its coldness warming
My beating heart?
Is it right or fair
To try to pretend
That the damp, warm air
Will become comfortably cool,
The blue-grey sky
Will show me a rainbow,
And the wailing wind
Will sound like a song?
Is it right or fair
To sit still by the window,
Hour after hour, night and day
And keep watch of the road below
Listening, waiting for the familiar clank
Of the old wagon
Traveling homeward?
Sometimes, I think it is
Oftentimes, I do not know.
And when that day comes
I just remind myself:
Memories are memories,
And dreams are dreams.
Those who leave
Seldom come back.
And if they do,
By some stroke of luck,
They will never travel
The same road again.
As for me, I will throw away the key,
And rebuild my dream abode,
Again and again, for the nth time,
I will tell fairytales I've already told.)
The truth hurts --
And it hurts terribly bad.
So, pardon me,
Please understand --
I need to overdose myself again
With pain killers.
(18 August 1997)