The Seventeenth Hill




How troubled we were. Your death wasn’t anyone’s fault but yours, but I still mourn you.

I’d stay here to pray for you, but all my words are drenched in sin. They’re after me, so I cannot stay here much longer.

Your remains rest on the seventeenth hill. How beautiful it looks from here.

As I depart this island and make my escape, I watch the sun fall behind where you lie. Maybe now you’re part of this very Earth.

I wave goodbye as the fog obscures all from view.

Credit to Thomas Dolby from his album “A Map of the Floating City” for the picture and the setting.


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