(Voice of J. G. Bennet)
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Looking by chance in at the open window
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I saw my own self seated in his chair
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With gaze abstracted, furrowed forehead,
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Unkempt hair.
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I thought that I had suddenly come to die,
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That to a cold corpse this was my farewell,
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Until the pen moved slowly upon paper
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And tears fell.
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He had written a name, yours, in printed letters:
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One word on which bemusedly to pore
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No protest, no desire, your naked name,
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Nothing more.
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Would it be tomorrow, would it be next year?
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But the vision was not false, this much I knew;
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And I turned angrily from the open window
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| Agahst at you.
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Why never a warning, either by speech or look,
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That the love you cruelly gave me could not last?
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Already it was too late: the bait swallowed,
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The hook fast
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Upon This Earth
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David Sylvian |