Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Glad We Came

Did I remember to turn off the stove?
I haven't been away from home that long,
But now my memory is not so strong
That I could tell you, when I start to rove
From shore to sea to island olive grove
And back to city streets, where I belong
(Inside a small hut by a billabong?),
With whom, or if my lover's eyes are mauve.

If my apartment has burst into flame
That may not matter if I lose my way
And can't return because I'm lost today,
So why the worry, why the fear of blame?
Arriving here at last, we're glad we came,
And we'll eat raw food, cooked through by decay.

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