A question of import before you go
if you do judge yourself up to the task:
are things all right? Sometimes the answer's no.
There's those that tell me pain can help you grow
but in the moment I dare barely ask
a question of import before you go.
What reason have you? Surely you must know
my melancholy mood in which I bask.
Are things all right? Sometimes the answer's no.
You must have muffled it, stowed it below
stairs, in your cellar, hidden in the cask
a question of import before you go.
Why so afraid? Release truth, let it show
its face and hide no more behind a mask.
Are things all right? Sometimes the answer's no.
We cannot right some wrongs by willing so
and so reflect, gulped from life's bitter flask,
a question of import before you go:
are things all right? Sometimes the answer's no.
No comments:
Post a Comment