Stab

Stab

There are circumstances, nights, when we are reminded of pain. Even in the simplest, most undramatic of times, for no clear reason… except that something lingers. A thought, a memory, or even an absent presence. When it becomes almost fresh again. And when pain is fresh, it’s excruciating. We can feel each streak of tear, each lash of cold even when there is no cold. There is nothing else to do but assume the fetal position in a feeble, vulnerable effort for warmth and surviving the night.

While I’ve gotten used to times like these, each time it happens there is nothing that redeems it, or makes it less painful. There is only hope that when the morning comes, it is gone, or at the very least, that the tearducts have been finally exhausted for yet another time. The cliché is a cliché yet true. Wounds may be gone but scars remain. And the scars, once in a blue moon, become fresh wounds all over again. Perhaps, closures are overrated.

Such is how life can be. Long live life.


Vida La Vida
-Coldplay-

I used to rule the world

Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sweep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never, never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world.


It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in.
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world.