Chasing her ghost
to the ends of the earth
Gave him a toast
unto his new dreams’ birth
Kissing her voice
he was a strange bono
But with no choice
sang his own choir’s echo
Ever chasing
until there was at last
His own facing
and he saw his own past
And saw a game
a new joke to be heard
Cynical blame
for hiding the gloved word
But there is more
that I must give to you
He sold his store
I lift my glass to you
I am not him
he saw and took new dreams
I am too grim
keeping these paper screams.
