My first love, now shot and dying And I buried her in the park I left my shovel on her grave. Things are never over Just because you say it's over And she has to come back for me. Oh, how she haunts me All the unfinished business All buried with her, too She leaves her imprint ON the pages This is her story again But what can I do? I dug her grave and left her there! So her voice still whispers to me! She's singing, shining softly The last time I saw her She was a little girl The ghosts that haunted her Now haunt me too But now I bid you farewell I will remaster your soul Part of you will go on living The the rest must rest, buried and dead.
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We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
― Anais Nin
Lidi 