sábado, 25 de abril de 2015

Them the waiters

The beach was warm. But they didn't like it.
The waves. Oh the waves. They sounded like apocalypse.
But they did not hear.

They just stood there. Waiting.
Barefoot. In the sand.
And stand.
Waiting.

Years passed. And so the others came.
Wood and iron in hand.
While the others stand.

And the question was made:
Will you take or will it fade?
And so they said:
Yes, we'll take.

For their waiting was well made,
The stubborn, the silly, and the maid,
They all dressed in gray.
And there was no way but to say:

We were here, day and night,
Night and day,
For there was nothing left to do
They'd split our soul in two,
There was me and there was you.

So the Wood and Iron was true:
The waiting was for the waiters what water was to the trout.
And meaningless they faded,
Never more to be found.

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