A long way from the truth
is where you stranded me,
like snake skin left in dirt,
bitter words from fatal fangs.
Thought your poison would
blacken my blood eternally.
There I stood.
There I stood;
bound by time, nomadic heart,
scintillating skies sewn of
his leather I couldn’t cut through.
He only remains in my rearview
and I found myself alone.
I found myself alone.
Sometimes the scene in the mirror
is light at the tunnel’s end.
Some nights that watercolour dusk
is more than an ink-stained ending;
Specks of gold on July wildflowers,
butterflies finally free
of what they used to be.
How could I know?
How could I know?
The liberation in letting go.
I drove until he was only
a dot on the horizon beneath
hues of lilac and tangerine.
I drove until the blood moon
surpassed the lunar eclipse,
until he was a piece of the past.
He is a piece of the past.
And it’s a long highway
to drive home,
lone pair of headlights
across fields like silk, rippling,
once two inseparable souls,
tonight, so far apart,
not even a second thought
in my rearview mirror.
Back to the dancing gypsy
I used to be.
Where did we go?
Where did we go?
