Solubility

There was a slowness in the summer city's air--

like a transparent oil gliding over the city streets.

It was the heaviness that I've tried to shed myself of,

it was the intuition of the abscense of your love.

From my window at the break of dawn I used to pray

that this lonesomeness under the northern sky

was indeed certainly not the art work of fate

that though time must pass, it wasn't too late.

Now when I wake, I make my way down the stairs

then through the hall and out the front door,

I step onto the streets below and fight my way

through the oil that traps me and still makes me stay.

Cars pass by -- my eyes are fixed at the horizon ahead,

and the emptiness guides me without a single faulty step.

Onlookers whisper and murmur, "surely she is dead!",

and I am hypnotized with emotion as I am further led.

There will never be any way to make sense of a lost dream,

it's known there is always a risk for ever even having had one,

the mysteries of love will always be what they shall be,

whether something beautiful is forever lost or won.

And as I haunt these foreign streets

My very own heart I still cannot understand-

maybe it's because I was raised by a man that loved the bottle,

because I was raised tough and without mercy by the hand.

The blooming flowers are something my eyes rarely see,

the only organ that works anymore is my heart,

which leaves me to continue walking toward the sea

as I feel us being distanced further and forever apart.