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That summer she let me hold her hand |
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And took my boyhood by surprise |
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Yet still I fail to understand |
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The hidden longing in her eyes |
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Not a soul might well have seen |
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What hands and eyes can sometimes mean |
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But I was blind and seventeen |
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That summer I bolted from the truth |
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Just as my sleeping heart began |
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To sense the sunrise of my youth |
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But I was still more boy than man |
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Lust in the language lies between |
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The life to come and seventeen |
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At seventeen you know it all |
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You're riding high and talking tall |
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You're no one's fool and no one's child |
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The world and you were running wild |
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The charm you've drawn from films and books |
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A strong-nosed face, approving looks |
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You lived the script, you looked the part |
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Yet you're a stranger to the heart |
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That summer she woke me with a kiss |
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And yet the prey refused the bait |
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The silence beckoned me to bliss |
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But to my shame, I saw too late |
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It wasn't red she meant, but green |
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And now I see what might have been |
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When I was blind and seventeen |
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That summer a part of me was burned |
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These days my act is well-rehearsed |
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But though I've lived, and loved, and learned |
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Each new affair is like the first |
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And I relive that summer scene |
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When I was blind and seventeen |
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