The bed of roses where we lay,
The crown of thorns I was so keen to give away.
All the warning signs ignored,
The passion's played.
I could foresee what was to come,
I had a sense of what might happen.
The river runs and very rapidly
Becomes a torrent, sweeping us
Towards our ricochet.
It takes a lifetime to unravel all the threads
That have tied us in our webs of tourniquet.
I stake no claim on memory.
I stand on ceremonial quicksand.
I look for something with solidity
To hold:
Something lasting, something pristine, with no sense of decay.
Can you remember how that was?
Can you remember?
It takes a lifetime's understanding of the flow
To surrender, let the current sweep you away.
What if I'd told you I would never let you go,
I would hold you every step along the way.
It takes a lifetime to unlearn all that you know
To return the things you borrowed for a day.
