Who else is going to love someone like me that's marked for death?
Who else is going to be with me when I breathe it all?
Who else would take your place and hold and keep me safe?
Who else would ever stay?
I loved a woman . Beautiful, beautiful woman, but so serious. This frowning face in the middle of a daisy. She had a way a walking, processional, like she was walking to her own funeral.
It's not a religion, it's just a technique
It's just a way of making you speak
Distance and speed have left us too weak
And destination looks kind of bleak
You're gonna be fine. You're gonna spend a long thinking you won't be, but then one morning you'll wake up and you will be, and you know for a while you'll miss the fact that you're not because it almost seems scarier than when you are, because at least when you're not at least you've got something to cling to and then, when you've got over that, you're gonna be fine.
You don't belong to her and she doesn't belong to you, but you're both part of each other; if she got up and left now and walked away and you never saw each other again for the rest of your lives, and you lived an ordinary waking life for another fifty years, even so on your deathbed you would still know she was part of you.
You have left your marks on each other, you have helped shape one another; you have each given the other an accent to their life which they will never quite lose; no matter.