Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 8

Today is Thursday, the 10th of May 2018. It's Father's Day. And something else I don't want to comment. Or do I? Maybe an astronaut flew to the skies some two-thousand years ago. But let's go back to this Father's Day thing. Is Father's Day an international holiday? Or is it a Klingon thing? I am tired and confused, not unusual these days...

And now for something completely different...

"Conspiratory Visions Of Bromford"

Sorrow is back in your eyes

Pulling us to the depth

We could have lasted like planets

But your weight dragged us both to our death

They've been sober around you

And I truly believed it'll suffice

But you're an addict for torture

And the sorrow is back in your eyes

The minor sonatas of Beethoven

Roll through your hips

But the words you are aching to sing

Are glued to your lips

They've been burning the wrongly accused

While you silently dance

But your beauty was such

That they all gladly stood in line for the chance

The amber around you

Has stiffened your thought and your limb

You're a fossil of love

A relic, an echoing hymn

The purity that once you delivered

Dissolved into sand

Lot has escaped and is dancing

But you're hardly able to stand

You won't work off your debt

Until you strip to your heart and your bone

The love that was once in your veins

Will dry into stone

The mist and the fog

Will densen themselves to a wall

And you'll finally sing

But I won't be there to hear your call

Keep the mood and keep singing...