Monday, December 13, 2004

One Of Everything 

A shooting star just missed your head, landed in the garden in the shed, crashed and burned while you were sleeping in your bed.
You woke up to wreckage everywhere. You just showered and washed your hair, patched me up and sent me spinning through the air.

So I’ll take one of everything, I’m gonna try anything to keep me orbiting and coming back to you. But it’s as cold as hell up here, drifting through the stratosphere. I’m afraid I might disappear if I stop for a minute.

And if I don’t come round again for a while, and I don’t return your calls, and my distance offends: please don’t remember me that way, I’m thinking of you every day. I miss my home. I miss my circle of friends.

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