She comes to me in sleep sometimes
A perfect mouth and a touch that illuminatesÂ
Colours of absinthe green and raincloud grey
Souvenirs d'une vie jamais vécu
Elle vient Ă moi dans mes rĂȘves parfois, but then
They all come trailing in behind her
Bite marks followed by blown chances:
A parade of deformed clowns, sucking their thumbs
Drunk on indifference or wilful stupidity
I'm sitting upright, caged in bedclothes
Trying to find the thing to say
Making lists and begging
But choking on her choices
Gurgling the words in hiccups of foam and blood
And already I have been thrust into the shadows, hidden for years
Tucked away like a dirty secret
So many ways to be a failure, so many paths to annihilation
But not this, please! Not this. And then:
An unborn child, and a Tom Petty song
  Will there ever be enough time?
But nothing ever changes
How can there ever be enough time, if itâs already too late?