Tu es le soleil pour moi, comme un ange ~ Thursday, May 7, 2026
The funny thing is not funny at all
This happens, exactly like this, by chance
how we meet, at a party, on the train
et cetera, our eyes meet, we connect
funny thing, we know, eyes meet, at a glance
understanding what is to come, unknown
now, missed opportunities come again
never the same, is this difference suspect
yet, we long to repeat the game as fun
though, excitement is addictive, wind blown
hair looks better in the moment, how cool
incredible to see, at the Red Line
nobody can say, I am not a fool
given my background, alcoholic, fine
if I am not perfect, so be it, son
sweet to hear from you again, my dear friend
now, how the phenomenal world is strange
only, I pretend not to understand
to admit, I am the devil, please send
flowers, for I feel grave, these words you save
until they dry, upside-down, out of range
not simply out of sight, thus, out of hand
not simply out of mind but like a bird
yes, how far you have come to see my grave
angels surround their fallen friend, how cold
the underground, the soil makes my blood boil
after the afterlife, what then, how bold
leaves tremble in the dark, this life, a foil
little bird forgotten, head in the sand
This happens, exactly like this, by chance
how we meet, at a party, on the train
et cetera, our eyes meet, we connect
funny thing, we know, eyes meet, at a glance
understanding what is to come, unknown
now, missed opportunities come again
never the same, is this difference suspect
yet, we long to repeat the game as fun
though, excitement is addictive, wind blown
hair looks better in the moment, how cool
incredible to see, at the Red Line
nobody can say, I am not a fool
given my background, alcoholic, fine
if I am not perfect, so be it, son
sweet to hear from you again, my dear friend
now, how the phenomenal world is strange
only, I pretend not to understand
to admit, I am the devil, please send
flowers, for I feel grave, these words you save
until they dry, upside-down, out of range
not simply out of sight, thus, out of hand
not simply out of mind but like a bird
yes, how far you have come to see my grave
angels surround their fallen friend, how cold
the underground, the soil makes my blood boil
after the afterlife, what then, how bold
leaves tremble in the dark, this life, a foil
little bird forgotten, head in the sand
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