Lovers carry their bloody cargo within them,
And never set their packs on the ground.
It's so full, it pulls at their shoulders,
Yet this cargo, they happily hold.
Pain is a blissful melody falling,
A reminder of days that were easy and fast.
A confirmation of passion left starving.
It will never sleep its cold rest.
my good friend, that I've known as sorrow,
He tugs on the dead and rotting limbs.
Have you seen him as he's shaking the crackling leaves
so that green leaves can grow once again?
I see them fall.
They're left. Alone.
They rot. They die.
They rot. They die.
If there were a body to that which I hold onto,
I would make love to it incessantly.
But addicted to the pleasure in feeling such pain,
I would strain to find a joyful feeling again.
Sorrow is shaking the tree limb,
There's happier times to come.
He's furiously sweeping my floor,
We're throwing a party.
He cleans the windows and shakes out the rugs
And I dance there, in the dust... the dusty air.