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era un oysterman giovane alto
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
i nostri momenti piacevoli volano
passando tramite le pareti huddled ed ugly
vi ricordate di
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della cittŕ
ancora tredici anni
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
fino alla sua finestra dell'alloggiamento

 



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