wild roses grew on the border
but pretty soon after died
I moved into the Albany
and sat up every night
there is a window on the soul
if we have a soul at all
there is a phone here by the bed
but I never make a call
there is a wind and there is a wood
and there is a darkening way
there is a phone here by the bed
but I wouldn’t know what to say
from a room here at the Albany
and a window on the soul
I love a quiet garden
where wild roses grow
no one has an answer
no one has a key
wild roses on the border
no longer bloom for me
Tag: wind
the welcome guest
on the second night we sang songs of abandonment
and on the third night
and the fourth
and on every night
until the welcome guest said to us
why do you sing these songs to me
for these are the songs sung by the sea
and sung by the wind that shakes the trees
sing again that song you sang before
for that is the most terrible
and beautiful of all
but none of us could recall
any song that came before
