In the early morning
sitting on our bench
a tiny willow warbler
comes around
very tame
hunting for food

The fallen leaves
in the graveyard
look very lovely

Could a song touch me?
Run its fingers
the length of my soul?

In truth it makes me wary
Of the power it holds:
To morph my mind is to
Morph my soul.

People, they touch me.
People are souls.
Souls cry out with life,
You might say they sing.

A song, a person, a soul?
Same thing.

The sky is full of fireworks
The road is emptied, only filled with firecrackers
The table's been ready, all the dishes were served
Everyone is about to eat
And i'm still here
Waiting.
Waiting.
And waiting.
I'm waiting for them,
Waiting for them to knock on the door,
Greet me with a smile,
Have a nice meal they prepared,
Fill the house with their presence,
Even though I know they'll never come to celebrate.