You're the jester of this courtyard With a smile like a girl's Distracted by the women With the dimples and the curls By the pretty and the mischievo… - Suzanne Vega

If language were liquid
It would be rushing in
Instead here we are
In a silence more eloquent
Than any word could ever be
These words are too solid
They don't move fast enough
To catch the blur in the brain
That flies by and is gone.

Kids will grow like weeds on a fence
She says they look for the light, they try to make sense
They come up through the cracks like grass on the tracks
She touches him goodbye

I open up the paper, there's the story of an actor who had died while he was drinking, it was no one I had heard of.