Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  I don't know how  To let you go.  I don't know how To be alone.  In this carousel Of red and blue horses,  You left me behind,  Watching empty chairs,  Wondering if you would  Come back or remember,  You promised to return,  When it was time.  Ohh, I don't know how,  To let you go,  I don't know how,  To be alone.  You said, babe, would you like Some corn or candy?  I'll just hop off for a minute,  While you finish.  But then you vanished,  Into a crowd so expansive,  Faces blurred by faces That took you in it.  But, I don't know how  To let you go.  I don't know how To be alone.  You're not coming back,  I think I understand it.  I'm still waiting For the carousel to stop.  It's making me sick,  And you're making me sad.  I wish I never sat here  I wish I quit long back.  But, I don't know how, To let you go.  I don't know how To be alone.  I don't know, I don't know,  How to let you go,  I don't know, I don't know,

Heat, it rises burning skin.  Sweat, tears, tempers cooled down,  To drink sweet water of anticipation.  Watch the dust storm coming in,  Waves of glittery diamond sand.  To cleanse you of your everyday sadness,  Wash away the sins of the past.  You are buried underground, you think,  You believe so dearly there is no way out.  It takes a hero to soar, my sweet boy,  It takes a man to want to try to win.  All stories begin and end this way.  It isn't life, if you haven't really changed.  There's always a girl who has faith,  And always a boy who is too late.  But somewhere, at last they meet,  Because that's how tales are told,  Of passion, valour, victory, death and deceit,  They must always follow a road.  From the clouds, the planes come down,  Some to destroy, some to resuscitate.  There is always an epiphany,  That makes for a great story.  Don't you think it's time you had yours too?  Of course, some end in tragedy,  Like the man who died with regrets,  Ab

The garden was watered today, by an unexpected thunderstorm. The leaves shook and fell, gathered near the gate. Rivulets of water carried them, swirling from the ground into the nearby pond.  The flowers glistened and shone, their buds, orange and pink, grateful for the drops of water falling on their mouths, drinking the thirst away. The branches, like hair underwater, danced in the wind. It had been a while someone pulled at them to swing them around. The hot, parched bodies of fruits now lay in the muddy ground, cooled down.  The gardener has been missing for a while. He has been sick lately. He feels guilty about not coming in every morning to check on his precious plants. His long fingers miss touching the soft petals of the roses, slowly unpeeling them, as the fragrance of their juices linger on his fingertips. He smells them to remind himself that he's been doing a good job. He is a diligent worker, and there's nothing that gives him more satisfaction than taking care of

I'm never fully present anywhere. When I'm walking under a tree, looking up at its branches, I'm on the branches. I see leaves falling down, but what I really see is snow. Cold, white stars falling down on my hands.  I'm talking to you, I hear an air conditioner, but what I really hear is the sea. I'm sitting on a cliff, looking down at the waves. I'm never really there anywhere. When I'm there, I'm also somewhere else. I don't know how I became like that. I suppose I was lonely as a child, I was invisible and misunderstood. I could not explain myself to anyone. I could not understand anyone. It was easier this way. To live where you choose.  My son told me yesterday how he feels he belongs nowhere, that he must have lived on some other planet because nothing seems real. It didn't raise any alarm bells for me. All I told him was that I understood how that felt. I'm sure there are more of us out there. The ones who are never really there. I su