You came barging in, even when I told you not toI locked all the doors but you were already insideNow you keep wandering about trapped in my heartTrying to find your way outI want to give you way but, it seems that I've forgotten where I'd kept the keysI want to let you outNot for you sake but mineBut I'll let you wander some moreAnd let you go when it's destined...
Does rain come knocking at your doorAnd you open up to itWelcome it like a long awaited guestAnd let it enter,Not only in your home but also in your soulYou talk to it, as if it were your long lost friendYou pack up your deepest darkest secretsAnd hand over the briefcase for the rain to take awayDo you secretly pour some pent up tears into that baggage too?Or do you save them for when the rain leaves your homeAnd then let those tears soak youDo you find solace in letting go when the rain comesEverything that you've been holding on to?Do you feel like a newborn when the sky is clearKnowing there'll be no more rain
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.