|
Here comes the patter of rain on my window |
|
I've woken again to the world on my pillow |
|
Wondering how I can beg, steal or borrow |
|
A girl who won't fight me but quietly follow. |
|
Straight as a die and as clear as a crystal |
|
I come from a temple as trod as a footstool |
|
To hiding a brothel inside a cathedral |
|
The man in the mirror, the fool in the ideal. |
|
Pulling apart with a speechless unweaving |
|
Dignity reels in the hearts of the grieving |
|
Walking the touch line twixt truth and deceiving |
|
A tear in a smile and a while wrenching leaving. |
|
Oh help me now, my long lost love, the dusk has drawn my soul |
|
Relishing the autumn |
|
Maybe it's the tragedy in loving that I live |
|
Cherishing the lonesome. |
|
I'd like to dance and sing my song upon a summer mountain |
|
With just a quiet girl along for daisy petal counting |
|
To set our sails into the West, the dream of all our forebears |
|
To where the sun is at his best, gathering us lovers. |
|
Oh help me now, my long lost love, the dusk has drawn my soul |
|
Relishing the autumn |
|
Maybe it's the tragedy in loving that I live |
|
Cherishing the lonesome. |
|
Cherishing the lonesome |
|
Cherishing the lonesome. |
|
You stand in the doorway with tears in your sorrow |
|
Saying there must be some way to tomorrow |
|
And just for a few hours I think I can borrow |
|
A girl who won't fight me but quietly follow. |
