It’s been many blue nights since we lost sight
Those years have passed, the tears didn’t last
Is that a shame if sometimes my heart is light
And I catch myself having a laugh and blast?
At other times a part of me recalls being kissed
And starts to think of you as if you were missed
Perhaps it’s just the cold, the silence or the night
Who knows when the heart is sincere and right?
Nothing is sure indeed
After all those years I am writing songs
All of them rehash a heart to steal poetry cash
It could be too, even if forgotten, that love exists
I do have photos of you, kept like tattooed drawings
Which go deeper under the skin than flimsy feelings
Some old crutches helping weak hearts walk and tick
But how long could I retain your face without a pic?
You could not pick me out now behind my face’s scars
Of course you knew my age, so just do the maths so far
But with some tweaks, for I tried to live slower than life
What for? To sleep in longer dreams of you as my wife?
One thing is sure though
After all those years I am the odd number
That doesn’t prove much except utter bad luck
It could be too, even if forgotten, that love exists
I am old now, my beard is grey like my sad and tired mood
Among strangers I always bragged about heroes of solitude
But I don’t care today if I sound cool as a fool or like a poet
And so can I sing blushes of blues about the loss I so regret
Everything must die for sure
After all those years I do resist resignation
Maybe it’s a pose to make mistakes grandiose
It could be too, even if forgotten, that love exists