Breviário das coisas breves

THE ENGINE DRIVER

I'm an engine driver
On a long run, on a long run
Would I work beside her
She's a long one, such a long one
And if you don't love me let me go

I'm a country lineman
On a high line, on a high line
So will be my grandson
There are powerlines in our bloodlines
And if you don't love me let me go

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones

I'm a money lender
I have fortunes upon fortunes
Take my hand for tender
I am tortured, ever tortured
And if you don't love me let me go

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
I am a writer,
I am all that you have honed
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones

(And if you don't love me let me go)


[Colin Meloy, Picaresque]
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Etiquetas: Poeminhas, Sons