All armies bear their losses, yet still they rally on.
The fanfare may be muted, the spirit may be gone.
And Troy was devastated by an accident of greed.
I knew that you were taken; a book I should not read.
But the sun danced in your shadow like the mocking of a bird.
And I was dragged down to your depth.
And I clung to every word.
You’re a statue in my past.
You are stone amongst the grass.
Byzantine and cold but never growing old.
And the clouds pass over Europe as the night, it battens down.
I am drinking in the backroom of a bar of some renown.
And I’m thinking how I lost you, how I let go of your hand. Your last words wore a sadness. You were drowned out by the band.