footprints in wet snow remind of something already gone let it go let it be gone things you can't measure obscured by attempts at measuring a compass and a ruler held to hearts and relating both harrowed and harrowing both master and slave make me a psalm, sung out of tune on a sunday unsure, place me in parentheses tell me i'm talking too much i'll keep my mouth shut for days, for weeks we're not saying anything anyway pretend regrets are malleable, that decision can be rearranged call me up, don't say a word just listen to ourselves breathing above existing estranged by memory tossed in the corner obsolete