K.d. Lang

(kd lang/Ben Mink)
Keen to the shifting of wind
I bend to it blind
To rid these kisses of sin
That must stay behind
Sour the fruit of neglect
The core of my doubt
Deprived are my veins you infect
With or without
Fate must have a reason
Why else endure the season
Of hollow soul
The ground on which we leave on
How strangely fuels the season
Of hollow soul hollow soul
Seed of uprooted chance
are grains of goodbye
Waving boughs so slowly dance
Questioning why