| In travel, there are traps
|
| When I’m writing in the back
|
| Beneath the rain, between the maps
|
| My diary bears this out but memory has it wrong
|
| I loved you when you loved me and then we were done
|
| There’s a silence on the railway
|
| There’s a bad curse on the land
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| And this season writes a rainstorm like a poem in the sand
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| You told me I depressed you, that I withered in your hand
|
| And that sentence cut my loveline when you left me as you planned
|
| In travel, there are traps when I’m writing in the back
|
| Beneath the rain, between the maps
|
| My diary bears this out but memory has it wrong
|
| I loved you when you loved me and then we were gone
|
| In travel, there are traps when I’m writing in the back |