I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.
“I empty myself of my life and my life remains.”
Is this supposed to be hopeful? It makes me sad that we can’t escape ourselves. Maybe that’s a good thing.
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We can’t escape ourselves. So depending on one’s life I suppose it could be good or sad thing. Even I dont know if this is a ending of hope or hopelessness.
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