this being the most self important mood
and this night the least clear
this being the saddest song
and this the least remembered
only this night has some existence.
tomorrow the day will reveal noiseless rain
and the same of the old
restive heart, sad fingers
the ceaseless unromance of existence
only this night has some existence.
the worst pain of night is the
most ludicrous of all things during day
it reveals only a profusion of sentiment
and the most vague logic and this
only this night has some existence.
the pile of books inside and the unstoppable
rain outside piles sadness upon sadness
but when it is day it reveals the stupidity
of this heart and the vague logic of the previous night but
only this night has some existence.
the saddest songs of the night
go to pieces during the day
as do my sad fingers and your romantic vows
and my sighs and your voice
but only this night has some existence.
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