When all is said and done,
what's left are not my thoughts:
Your tear-beads make my ink run
and leave me a string of blots.
When the race is ran and won
and you take a look aback,
All you see's the broken ribbon
and footprints on the track.
When an aeroplane does fly,
the jet tails fade at once;
But your contrails in the sky-
they have been here for months.
You knew I couldn't win the race-
I could not overtake you;
Yet you left behind a trace
For me to come and take you?
