Oh, all the time now
My hands smell of coffee
But the air doesn’t smell like spring
If I lean from the window
I can almost net the sunshine
But the light is still so thin
Every day now
I open the window
To let some new air in
The bedroom is thick with
Layers of history
The winter brought with him
And I don’t know what the birds told you
I’m convalescing just fine
It’s just these winter winds
Underneath my skin
I guess it’ll just take some time
Tell me good morning
I’ve got a story
Twisting up inside my brain
I’m biding my time
I’m borrowing lives
Till the summer opens me up again
And Mr Eliot was wrong, you know
As months go, March is much crueller
I spend all of my time
Waiting in line
Waiting for someone to hand me a future
Oh, all the time now
My hands smell of coffee
I can barely hear myself thinking –
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