Peter Hammill Again
I stretch my hands, clutch vacant laughter in silence and sweet, sweet pain; without demand, but with a longing for what will never come again. I smell your perfume on the sheets in the morning-- it linger like the patterns on the window after rain, a past that lives, if only for th epresent... which is gone and will never come again. to your sad eyes, turned away, mine say 'Do you? Did you? How?' As the darkness slides away the day shows what was and makes what is now. I see your picture as though it were a mirror but there's no part of you outside the frame except the change that you game to me: this will never come again. I am me, I was so before you, but afterwards I am not the same. You are gone and I am with you: this will never come again. ---------------------------
