St. Christina

There's a breaking of voices
There's a crack that never mends
It fills the vase of flowers
Until they wilt and fall away
I will not sing to you each evening
I will not mend it just to keep
Opening from closing
The joyful death of what could be

Burned in memory
What a life that we have lived
And we'll live it again

A finger wrapped in cotton
I'll cool it in the sea
Thinking, "How could you be so stupid?
You cannot cut off that part of me"

Burned in memory
What a life that I have lived
And I'll live it again
What a life that I have lived
And I'll live it again