Remember that nightWhen you went for a walkOn my painted street,All my paint brushes and my colours in you cloth satchel?I had told you I wanted some ..
And like all broken, sad peopleHe said he was a poet,That he was going slightly madBut not worldly-insane yet;And that if he knew what his pain wasHe'..
When you stand there,At the turn of the roadIn your solitude robe,The autumn-signed leaves a-rustling,The wind in your unwashed hair,It is then that I..