Just as if to tell her man, that she can't either

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The nervous girl sat back, her tight shoulders arched, mouth dry, trying to whisper an old Jackson Browne song to herself and a few precious memories. Excitement, anticipation, fading in moments. There was an anxiety showing beneath the politeness, this trying-to-please, hurrying time away. And, meanwhile, the perilous boy, with an unbearable shame and sadness to hide, simply wanted to close the door, with a million things to do concerning everything and nothing. Just something to move beyond this hanging on. To get away. For words seemed stupidly unemployed, in such disquieting circumstances. It was all told in the eyes, that of course, now, never meet. A message was delivered within, as well as between, the shared poor-quality headphones; a translation from Japanese to English, across mutating time zones that spanned centuries. And with arms folded tightly into heartbeat chest, her camouflaged silver lake truth had been spoken, during that early morning light, without the need for... [fade out]
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Dead Can Dance - 'The Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove' (Live, Den Hagg, 2005)
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Go here. Buy here.
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PS, As a rather curious aside, I'm back on Last FM and Flickr. Wonders never cease, huh? So, come find me, if you would like to, please.
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