Veda Hille With No Caring
Walking through our house
Our hands working making signs
Neither hope nor fear
Through doorways and faithless times
Edge past our silences, dear
Paintings can’t say what they hear
Facing in a hot box
Spitting anger in the air
In the air
Hard consonants like darts
Fury burning from nowhere
With no caring
You in your room
Me in mine
Working at making signs
Patching the holes
We bite and tear
Write me another letter, dear
Facing in a hot box
Spitting anger in the air
In the air
Hard consonants like darts
Fury burning from nowhere
With no care
With no caring
There is no map
For love and anger
Where is the trap
I smell decay and danger
How can I write a story?
This is no end
I refuse to accept this
As a fault I must mend
Facing in a hot box
Spitting anger in the air
In the air
Hard consonants like darts
Fury burning from nowhere
With no caring
There is no map
For love and anger
Where is the trap
I smell decay and danger
How can I write a story?
This is no end
I refuse to accept this
As the loss of a friend
Walking through our house
Our hands working making signs
Write me another letter, dear
Write me another letter, dear
