сряда, 12 юни 2013 г.

Damien Rice "Rootless Tree"

It's warm and sunny.
Every step on the red path makes dust rise up, trying to hug our knees.
The green grass is slowly fading to yellow.
People, pets, kids, picnics...
You know they are there.
But we don't see them.

We're here to find that magnificent tree.
To pay our respects. To say a "thank you" and a "farewell".
Not to Her. We already said it to Her long ago.
To memory, to what was, to what shall never be again...

There.
It used to be there.
The sturdy trunk, the huge branches, the echo...
Of those most dangerous words I kept on shouting.
Of all the things you whispered.
That which signified all we'd been through.

A stump.
All that is left of all the memories, of all the desires, of the one great symbol...
A stump.
Huge, flat, short...
And not quite dead yet.
A stump.
Something that used to be there.
An imprint.
Dying.
Left.
Probably forgotten.

We don't cross over the grass.
We don't shout.
We don't fall.

Tearless - we slowly walk away.

Red dust and roots.