Besedila: Okkervil River. It Ends With A Fall.

Wish I could remember
why it mattered to me.
It doesn’t matter to me.
It doesn’t matter to me
anymore.
Now that you’re
feeling fine,
I’ll admit that – though

I know it’s coming down,
and see it shattering me
- it doesn’t matter to me,
and I’m not sadder for
seeing it come.
I’m not going to run.
I will just come
when I am called.

You want to cut me off
because I took too much,
but don’t leave me alone
Take off your scarves,
your winter coat.
The night’s too cold.

When we met I should have said
you’re like a sister to me,
how all that kiss her just seem
like puny suitors I can see through,
how none will do,
no not for you,
how it might as well just be us two.

And when I pulled you by the jacket
from the clattering street,
you started flattering me,
you started saying I was so strong.
String me along,
but I can’t become
all that I’m called.

And I can’t claim to know
what makes love die or grow,
but I can still take control
and so refuse to just go home,
back down the hall.

And as I crawl,
as finally all
the false confetti blooms
up in this attic room,
I’m going make my stand.
I want to see both of your hands
put down the phone.

I won’t let you go,
although
the moment stole
my self-control
from us all
and now it can only end
end with a fall.