’Twas folly to believe in lies,
Yet who would know what’s good and true?
Our words are clouds in empty skies
That in good time we come to rue.
’Twas folly all along, I know,
Yet hope clings to a mother’s dress.
If anything, it goes to show
What otherwise we shan’t confess.
’Twas folly, and you left me sore,
Yet played along as best you could.
I spelt your name with my own gore,
Bled dry, now leave me, if you would.
I know it is folly,
Considering your whereabouts –
Where would we be? –;
Considering what you are.
You are light as a leaflet,
And I am heavy as snow
On top of a wasteland dune.
Yet I would rather burn in an instant
For a minute with you
Than live on for ever
On this desolate shore.
I know it is folly;
I am just buying time
To spend with you.