Skirmishes for Diotima - Rome, Thåström

Weren’t they like skirmishes

In some great war

Our kisses so deep but fleeting

Like vultures digging for lice?

We were led to the soul by way of skirts

Were led to love by way of knives

We valued what war reversed

Season comes round

We break and fall, that’s all

Season comes round, we break and fall

Seasons come and go, that’s all

She thought me contemptible

No compassion for the fate

Of the little man

Who finds rest only in the contempt

Of the great

And pity moves in funny ways

Let’s not try to be witty when the grave

Lies open before us always

And pity moves in funny ways

Let’s not try to be witty when the grave

Lies open before us always

And pity moves in funny ways

Let’s not try to be witty when the grave

Lies open before us always

And pity moves in funny ways

Let’s not try to be witty when the grave

Lies open before us always