it's times like this i wish i learned to play music, because no written word will do
you are running fast my dear friend
my outrageous teacher
and practical guide
with a spark of madness
you've always run faster and farther than you ought
but even now you slip away into the horizon
the mast and sail flattening into an ever diminishing black dot
and this time you sail where i cannot follow
i grieve the joy you take with you
grieve the sorrow left behind
(i will make bad jokes to the air
pretending you are there
that it is your joke
in your voice
and not my pale imitation)
Mark this man and know his kind,
they are not seen overmuch anymore.
Know him as Artist, for that is his soul
but what the fuck do i know anyway?
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