James Enoch


I sit in my room, full of dark, full of gloom.
If I don't lay with you soon, I'd rather lay in my tomb.

I sit under a tree, full of light, full of glee.
For you I still don't see, but you are here in memory.

I sit on top of a cloud, not nine, not a smile, not a frown.
Just a song I sing aloud, my eyes fixed on the ants, searching for you in the crowd.

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