It’s late in the desert, no month to name.
I don’t know the day, no line to claim.
You wrote of your cold; here the daylight is burning.
I’m writing you now, though the silence is withering.

No record to turn, no song to recall,
Only the hush answering the distant call.

… and Jane left when my words lost their glow.
She said I was dust when she needed to grow.
That night she whispered a borrowed “no,”
… and no, I never let it go.

Ah, the last time I missed you, I looked a bit younger.
My infamous blue raincoat pierced through the heart.
I stood with Lili by the tracks in the rain;
We returned home, two halves apart.

Yes, I gave her my breath—for a flicker of life.
Yes, you’re damn right—she was nobody’s wife.

Now the rose is gone, and the night creeps in;
No more the teeth, no more the thief.
Well, I hope Jane won’t see this old skin,
but dreams instead of the man who always could win.

And what can I tell you, my judge, my crime?
What could I possibly find?
I guess I was never missed; I guess I was never aligned.
There was no way, neither yours nor mine.

I didn’t steal her.
Yet, I did steal her—
waiting quietly in shadows
where you let the light die.

If you ever cross the desert,
you’ll find no house, no fences, no ends;
Only the road that never bends.

Yes, and thanks for the fight you never fought—
For letting her choose neither wrong nor right.

… and Jane left when my words lost their glow.
She said I was dust when she needed to grow.
That night she whispered a borrowed “no.”

Sincerely,
An end.