Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to grow...


Matt Routledge

Lost Love, Letters

Here we go, again
You're calling me
From a time, (We never experienced time)
I'd long forgotten
I'm older now, (We never thought we'd grow,
We haven't though, Grown old dear,
Not together
Though you, oh you,
You'll look the same, feeding
Like the rat, from the dead
Remaining young, Youth in letters
I kept them all, in sadistic pleasure
(I lost normal pleasure, when I lost you)
Sad little letters, yelling at the past
(I once spoke softly)
My voice cracks, like the times I sang
Sweet romance and airs of Derry,
Now I've changed.
(Singing Leonard Cohen)
You're telling me, death is claiming you.
Knocking at the door.
Writing to tell me you love me
(Sadly I don't love you)
So here's my last letter,
I reply in simple tones,
"No one of that name at this address"
(He died of a broken heart)

To order click on the cover; or if you use PayPal add it to your orange shopping cart...

You are viewing the text version of this site.

To view the full version please install the Adobe Flash Player and ensure your web browser has JavaScript enabled.

Need help? check the requirements page.

Get Flash Player