DOWNPLAYING
THE PRODIGAL SON
I still want both fire and vengeance along
to go see Pagliacci, but - oh lord - all this
luggage is wearing me down, twisting my
spine and bending my back; all tired and
so much useless as well. I've seen the fire
on the mountain and it's gone out; the
woodshed is vacant and the cows won't
come home. Outdated machinery
makes this harvest a chore.
-
The man in the suit of a tragic clown?
I've known him, together with his
double. Soulmate. Voyager. Alike.
My duality hinders my handling.
My hands do not fit the door.
My gloves - no fingers left -
now go unused. That mark, that
mark beneath each my eyes, you ask?
That is the mark of fire, all scars.
-
Old remnants of a flame that used to be.
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