Laura, are you still living there on your estate of sorrow? You used to leave it occasionally.
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Now, you don't even bother to ride that commuter train west to Chicago,
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to stroll through the greenery, in the park, past the statues.
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How their eyes seemed to follow you like a hated addiction.
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Their beauty carved out of absolutes that you could never claim, or even envision.
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Laura you were the saddest song in the shape of a woman. I thought you were beautiful,
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but I wept with your movements. I hope you are laughing now from that place of the carpet
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where we shared a sleeping bag, in your sisters apartment. Oh how she would worry so, you know,
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I was just a stranger. But she asked me to care for you. That is what she did
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and I went and betrayed her. But do you know we are in high demand,
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Laura, us people who suffer? Because we don't take to arguing and we are quick to surrender.
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Well, I think I would call tonight if I still had your number.
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Your thoughts have always laid close to mine. We were both skipping supper.
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But you should never be embarrassed by your trouble with living.
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Because it is the ones with the sorest throats, Laura, who have done the most singing. Everybody!
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La La La La La La La La La Lah...
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Laura Laurent
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| Bright Eyes |
