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Somewhere, joyfully a-rolling with a didn't-come-true dream, |
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Aboard the paper ship a-sailing <i>[with]</i> drying out wishes stream, |
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Flying on the wings of melody of timid first slow dance, |
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Lives in mind's gloomy corner shadow of the |
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Innocence. |
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It's the first strokes of red paint on the canvas then still white, |
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It's the images a-shaping into the alluring sight, |
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It's the touch to bud of rose that hasn't bloomed seducing grace, |
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It's the thrill of first temptation, fever of the first embrace. [Chorus:] (After the ball is over, after the break of morn, After the dancers' leaving, after the stars are gone;) |
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Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all; |
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Many the hopes that have vanished, after the ball. |
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It's intoxicating flavor of the still forbidden fruit, |
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It's the childish glance that somehow turned to passionate and lewd, |
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It's the fingers stretched to fire, seeking warmth and burnt so soon, |
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It's the lullaby of hopes that started ringing out of tune. |
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It's not healing scars on veins left by first love gone for good, |
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It's the desperate silence screaming that was never understood. |
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It's the feelings, naked feelings - raped, abused and tread to dust, |
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It's the virginity you've lost just for the sake of being loved at last... [Chorus.] |
