I still can't ride through Williamsburg,
Without looking for her there,
Every woman with falling eyes,
and darkness in her hair,
I see someone she might be,
but I am still not sure,
I stare at the arm, waist and hips,
And remember what was pure,
But when she finally turns around,
I know that it's not her,
She is someplace faraway,
not this caricature,
The wicked things that lost minds spit,
The wicked things they say,
Which keep a heart in wounding hunts,
And booby traps which prey,
On tired souls my weary eyes,
Keep looking but still can't see,
Her beauty or her touch,
Or the way we used to be,
I still can't walk through Williamsburg,
I have to leave this place,
To go somewhere she'll never be
A ghost without a face,
And practice my amnesia,
Practice letting go,
Cast her in forgotten lands,
Where all is buried low,
And I can't sleep in Williamsburg,
For there she'll steal my dreams,
And haunt me like the one who's damned,
And forgotten when he screams,
Love is just a torture now,
This love I wish would die,
I tried to kill it long ago,
But forgot the reason why,
Until now here in Williamsburg,
Where I see her all around,
Behind each passing stranger,
And in the cracks along the ground,
I see her in the wild sky,
Of which I can't escape,
I see her in the empty glass,
In each fermented grape,
I see her in the couples lost,
I see her with some man,
Though I know she'll never love again,
The way she knows we can.
But I still can't be in Williamsburg,
It's just too lonely here,
And though I was her master,
I am mastered now by fear,
As strangers ask me for the train,
I point them to the show,
Though I am lost and hollowed out,
The need still letting go.

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