Yoshimi ruster opp

Denne har gått og surret i hodet mitt i et par måneder. Det er en tekst jeg finner mye i,  den bare traff en dag i høst , med et lite smell.

Men så er det en ting som irriterer meg likevel og det er vel den tingen som gjorde at det har tatt såpass lenge å legge denne ut. Det kommer ned til avlutningen, særlig de siste linjene. Jeg får en trang til å klippe dem vekk;  de endrer resten av innholdet i teksten for meg, vrir temaene jeg ellers får assosiert over på en forhåndsbestemt linje som plutselig ikke kommuniserer det samme lenger- Men det er ikke min tekst. Så da skal vel slutten få stå likevel.

Is it wicked not to care?

Is it wicked not to care when they say that you’re mistaken
thinking hopes and lots of dreams that aren’t there?
Is it wicked not to care when you’ve wasted many hours
talking endlessly to anyone that’s there?

I know the truth awaits me
but still I hesitate because of fear

Skipping tickets making rhymes
is that all that you believe in?
Wearing rags to make you pretty by design

Rusting armour for effect
it’s not fun to watch the rust grow
for it will all be over when you’re dead

Counting acts and clutching thoughts
by the river where the moss grows
over rocks, the water running all the time

Is it wicked when you smile even though you feel like crying?
even though you could be sick at any time?
But if there was a sequel, would you love me as an equal?
would you love me till I’m dead?

If there was a sequel would you love me like an equal?
Would you love me till I’m dead
And if there was a sequel
Would you love me as an equal?
Would you love me till I’m dead?
Or is there someone else instead?

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