The last page of the novel is written in Italian
It speaks to me in Greek, underscored with bold italics
The hero and the h**ne are camped out in the valley
With only unpaid parking fines between them for posterity
There is no easy answer to a question lacking purpose
If I were so inclined by its designed intent to hurt us
I'd tell you where the world stops spinning long enough to linger
Upon the axis of the psyche all devoid of anger
And you. You turned me on when I was off
And you: There are so many things to say 'bout you
You opened up my heart and took a room. And it's true. I love...
This chapter in the novel tears the flesh straight from my fingers
Yet in the early morning hours, you were there to mend them
I love you in a way that can't recall a prior knowledge
Yet somehow we both know that this will just be one more linkage
Too many times have pens clung to my brain in search of respite
Too few times have I made any attempt no to affect it
An empty bowl of cherries sits beside a roaring fire
Yet somehow we both know that this will just be one more linkage
And you. You turned me on when I was off
And you: There are so many things to say 'bout you
You opened up my heart and took a room. And it's true. I love...
Turn off the television, close your eyes so I may kiss them
The purpose of the words, I found, is to embrace translation
We'll make up an ending. Just a simple one is needed
About a boy who loved a girl
And you. You turned me on when I was off
And you: There are so many things to say 'bout you
You opened up my heart and took a room. And it's true. I love...
You: There are so many things to say 'bout you
You opened up my heart and took a room. And it's true. I love...