The Sweet Unrest

Dust dancing in a shaft of gray. The city breathes then looks away. I am a theater with no play. A thousand faces all in clay. The Tagus flows through silver veins. Across the glass of Windowpanes. I count the losses, Not the gains. Wrapped in the velvet Of the rains. Oh, this sweet Unrest. A hollow heart inside a Chest. I'm a stranger in my own Skin. Watching the shadows creeping In. Lisbon sleeps but I am Wide. With all the worlds I Hold inside. The coffee's Cold, The ink is dry. Under an indifferent sky. I see the crowds, they hurry by. Each one a truth, each one a Lie. I write the lines I'll never read. A quiet ache, a phantom Need. The soul is just a restless seed. Sown in a soil of Ancient Grief. Do Not wake me from this dream. Nothing is quite what it Seems. I am the bridge, I am the Stream. A flicker in a dying Beam. Oh, this sweet Unrest. A hollow heart inside a Chest. I'm a stranger in my own Skin. Watching the shadows Creeping in. Lisbon sleeps but I am Wide. With all the worlds I Hold inside. The book is open. The rest is silence. Saudade. Saudade