Or maybe one… just one name. I wanted to go to a place where the shadows no longer shouted that name, a place where there were only whispers of that long-forgotten son. The surrounding scene was post-everything – strewn across the abyss. I saw your beautiful face around every last corner, dearest Miss… allusions to everything minus the sun… so did you run too far, or not far enough? Oh bother – my flight is booked. To where? I don’t know yet. Does it matter? It was always anywhere but here, anyone who could stare into those piercing eyes of the forgotten beyond. The longest days were the ones overrun by appetence, overwhelmed by a disregard for the somnambulant imagery of these lucid daydreams, which were painted upon the canvas of my memory. I would not rest until I had perfected painting those strokes across the canvas of time… the piquant strokes of experiential bewilderment, lurking around every corner, the arcanum written on every expression of the co-conspirators. Let me share a secret – the lights will become lanterns, and the pale dirty pink and blue will become amber of hue, warming you into tomorrow like a child in her favorite blanket. The winds will no longer howl, but whisper to you, coo even, penetrating through you, all the way to your most beautiful and complete core – the very essence of the edge within. Close your eyes. Stand on that cliff with me. Allow me to share the secret.
Solstitude Without Names
Depeche Mode - My Secret Garden