I'm a sucker for the private place,
Though it's boring once you've found it You're always right, which makes being right worthless,
and yet you want to stay there even though you hate it.
I remember the initial vision
elegance mingled with the ordinary, intimacy in a kingdom of three or four. Ecstasy was a dream before it was a drug, However oversold.
I miss the distractions that distracted me
distracted me From what exactly?
From anonymity and inconsequence,
and from how fragile life feels when you're alone
and nobody cares what's true or false?
The elegance Is always in the telling,
not in the truth,
and yet sometimes the words still speak to me as if they were true.
They stick in my mind,
They stick in my throat
It's still there.
