It’s a heavy decision:
I’ve kept it with me far too long.
I did not speak about it
though it stayed on my tongue.
The vultures have circled too long
over our own little scene.
I have come to finally tell you . . .
that I’m gone.
And that same tiny conscience ache
that I get on the homeward way
tells me, “Anything but go home!
Don’t go home.”
And this tormenting tiny ache
of the mem’ry of you and me
would grow stronger in that certain place –
would begin . . . and it wouldn’t cease.
Is there any objection?
Speak it now or be still.
Just my heart held its hand up
but my mouth lost its will.
Give me no more kisses,
No “what’s up?” and no coffee.
I’ve only come by here to tell you
that I’m gone.
And that same tiny conscience ache [ETC.]
The vultures have circled too long [ETC.]
And that same tiny conscience ache [ETC.]