mardi, novembre 01, 2005


Inexplicably, I woke up with these Crowded House lyrics in my head. (Inexplicably because I haven't heard the song in about a year.)

Then again, it could be my mind free-associating with a publication with "universe" in its name that I supervise and will be putting out alone shortly. (Universe's editor will go out on paternity leave any day now.)

"Private Universe"
No time, no place to talk about the weather
The promise of love is hard to ignore.
Who said the chance wasn't getting any better?
The labour of love is ours to endure.

The highest branch on the apple tree
It was my favourite place to be
I could hear them breaking free
But they could not see me.

I will run for shelter
Endless summer lift the curse
It feels like nothing matters
In our private universe

I have all I want, is that simple enough?
And a whole lot more I'm thinking of ...

Every night about six o'clock
Birds come back to the pond to talk
They talk to me — birds to talk to me
If I go down on my knees.

It feels like nothing matters
In our private universe ...

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