Arhive etichete: patrick wolf

London

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And it took me ages to get home,

In a city I would’ve never thought I’d call home.

This is where magic happens,

Where I’m equally invisible and very observable,

Where you could walk without getting anywhere,

Where you could go without getting somewhere,

But where places are home everywhere.

You can walk on the Southbank,

Imagining how it feels to swim down the river,

Or you could go south the Thames, where all the fancy people live.

You can walk through Camden

And taste the wild side,

Or go to the museums and galleries,

And find that life is on the palm of your hand,

Listening to you, feeding you, tasting you…

I know I’m home now; I’ve stopped missing myself.

The Only Thing

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Who are you after all the people are gone?

After you turn off the lights that fill up your life,

And turn off the music,

And get in your own bed?

Do you like yourself? And who you’ve become?

Do you miss the acceptance of others,

And the hugs from the mothers

You’ve had?

The friends that keep running towards you

And giving you purpose?

Who are you, when all you have now is time?

And who you were supposed to be when all the lights were gone?

Do you run from yourself

Or do you run from others?

Do you think you’re a work in progress

Or do you think you’re done baking?

Do you have certainties about you

Or is the only thing you a very clear unknown?

Are you happy and kind? Or are you at least trying?

There is still time for you to learn all of this,

To learn yourself,

To learn the others,

To learn love and despair,

Hope and breathing in the air.

The only thing you’ll always have

Until the day you die

Is time.