Stones

Opening that third box, you could fall into a world One, that it shouldn't even belong to, but it does because he ends there A passage like no other existing in between the boundaries of a holiday destination And lived sentimental experience The photographs could only tell us when he'd seen and Postcards where he wished he'd been Cinema stubs were the most telling, he had bad taste but strong sense of tenderness Hello beautiful faces and bad fashion artifacts Pamphlets of Nice, they must have meant a lot Or that he wished he could have made it to, in another lifetime An empty pack of Swiss tobacco, they even now would pain him to throw away Because it cost more than a cross-country train Good job he's held back plenty of travel cards too May the sun shine on the road you travel on, by his light may you ever be led Still in possession of the keys to open the house Where your pension for collecting things began C80: How was the turbulence? Is that where you drank your La CHOUFFE and drew your portrait on the coaster? What did your fortune read, buried inside that cookie? Maybe I'm seeing it now, through the fragments of what you left behind The Indonesian postage stamp couldn't paint a more different picture of you Than the business card for a salvage lot based in St Helen's Stock and sample sales at the domestic botanist A painted Rock from the beach "Sometimes you have to leave people behind to find them", reads the fortune