Bitter suite

Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand to a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears. And from glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear “J’entend ton coeur”.
But it’s getting late, for scribbling and scratching on the paper and something’s gonna give under this pressure, the cracks are already beginning to show. It’s too late. The weekend career girl never boarded the plane, they said this could never happen again. So wrong, so wrong. On the outskirts of nowhere, on the ring road to somewhere, on the verge of indecision I’ll always take the roundabout way. Waiting on the rain for I was born with a habit, from a sign. The habit of a windswept thumb and the sign of the rain. It’s started raining.

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