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from Wider Waters by Charlie Rayne

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Mundane gasps for foreign air, to stay curled up rubbing bones. Whence they crawled out of that chair, thirsty, anchored to a stone. I should never hope to find a place to call my home.

For I, they know, am poor of heart - a sadder day when love is born. “Son,” they said, “better depart” and blessed the rose with budding thorns. And I should never hope to find a love to call my own.

Maybe it’s the darkness in my thinking. Maybe it’s the shape of my bones. But I dug holes in my soul and now it’s sinking. Pick me up or just leave me alone.

One day it’s so hard to tell and then the next it’s all too clear! Still I’m not sure who the hell is looking at me in the mirror. And I should never hope to find out who I’m supposed to be.


from Wider Waters, released October 3, 2014


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Charlie Rayne بيروت, Lebanon

Now making music as Interbellum: interbellum.bandcamp.com

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