Scribblings & Photos by Damian Oxborough @ finishmysong.com
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
France Vacance
Slowly, slowly time passes by.
It almost makes you want to die.
Things come and go but are always there.
Things that stay crumble and tear.
The buildings are made of all things red.
Nothing lives. All is dead.
I understand the questions but that's all.
I feel as if I'm not on the ball.
The girl takes a momentary glance.
It strikes me like a cold, sharp lance.
It's just as much your guess as mine :
Is she happy? Is she fine?
It almost makes you want to die.
Things come and go but are always there.
Things that stay crumble and tear.
The buildings are made of all things red.
Nothing lives. All is dead.
I understand the questions but that's all.
I feel as if I'm not on the ball.
The girl takes a momentary glance.
It strikes me like a cold, sharp lance.
It's just as much your guess as mine :
Is she happy? Is she fine?
