AUGUST
Fleur says she doesn’t want to be picked anymore
I say I understand and then I tear off her blouse
Fleur sings the ballad of Wedding Gaol
I hum along, it gets me so aroused
Fleur says dying in her prime would be a sin
And I treat her with all respect
Fleur says her forehead is quite different from mine
What did she expect?
It’s August and we’re dying
A little day by day
August and we’re trying
To kill our joys with pain
Fleur gives names to all the anomalies
That have bruised her petals and bruised her heart
She gives names to all my apologies
I guess you can call that art
Fleur laughs when she cries and kisses me goodnight
I wipe away her tears and I want inside
Now Fleur says nothing and then she curses the moon
May she have her wish and die in her sleep soon
It’s August and we’re dying
A little day by day
August and we’re trying
To kill our joys with pain
De Smet / Burton, 1996