Fortyseven

FOR WANT OF [rites of spring] i believed memory might mirror no reflections on me / i believed - that in forgetting i might set myself free / but i woke up this morning with a piece of past caught in my throat and then i choked / i bled - i tried to hide the heart from the head / i bled in the arms of a girl i'd barely met / and i woke up this morning with the present in splinters on the ground and then i drowned / (and if i can't see its for want of...) / you said, "i see", if there's nothing here then its probably mine / my turn to see if there's nothing here it will always be mine / i've learned the taste of days that will always burn / i've learned if its in the corner of my eye i can't always turn.