Good morning, good night
this is how it passes by, my time,
I am selling stories, sweet little lies alright
it is getting old and easier, I’ve been told,
so I took a white empty card,
wrote down words and question marks
and played poker with the heart…
My house is built on wrong,
the sun eludes the backyard every time
in pitch black night there is no moon,
no windows, only bricks up to the clouds,
the postman never comes
carols are like apples when they fall,
and it’s frozen, raining cold…
Good night, sleep tight my love,
roll down dreams to keep them flowing,
pour it slowly and fill our glasses
naked water for the conscious drowning,
because noses can not smell beauty
hands can not touch without the skin
and eyes, eyes need light to see…
![a-street-in-l'hermitage_-pontoise_camille-pissarro_camille-pissarro__86579.1556873541[1]](https://whoisalice.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/a-street-in-lhermitage_-pontoise_camille-pissarro_camille-pissarro__86579.15568735411.jpg)