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The Salad Days

from Staircase Wit by H. Letham

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lyrics

With a folded silk shawl, you dust the skin off,
your grandfather clock.
And it stopped just last week, but you still feel the need,
to wipe it off.

All the fabric grew torn from the decayed boards,
that now glisten brown.
And the pulsing of light, as it hangs off the side,
near your clavicle.


You told me once, that beautiful things will save everything,
but themselves,

as you gave your love away,
to someone else.

It all takes me to the salad days,
of cherry pits, and locked dresser drawers. 

And my nose bled through the telephone,

and you knew, we weren’t in love anymore.
and you knew, we weren't in love anymore.

Oh, it’d be too easy to say, and too large to forget and too small to explain.
The way these words escape.


Oh, it’d be too easy to say, that twelve hundred miles is nothing but a day.

Or hours, if we would take the plane.

Oh, it’d be too easy to say, I want to be with you, I’ll move to LA.
And forgive me, for making you wait.

Oh, it'd be too easy to say that the words on this page, can be erased just because we say so. Oh how we've said so.
But all of the years we spent, we were trapped in April, April, April.
Some groundhog day that we've escaped from.

credits

from Staircase Wit, released May 16, 2013

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H. Letham Sacramento, California

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