Who am i left to dream with
At nights when i can’t sleep
I half expect to see your face next to mine
but its not there when i turn over
And how am i supposed to dream of sweet things
when every touch,
every kiss
every breath
Is poisoned with tiny visions of you
There is no goodness left in this world
How can i sing
when every tune makes me weep
with memory of you
music, which once brought me
the purest and most splendid joy
now turns sour in my head,
for i cannot smile and think of you
And why did you run
How did i make it so simple
for you to fly through my heart
...you always hated flying
but how easy this trip must have been
You came and stayed a while
but for a moment,
I thought i saw something
linger in your eye
and then it was gone before i even knew what it was
I was nothing to you
I was never anything to you
And i know now
that ill only ever hold you in my dreams

O woe, woe,
People are born and die,
We also shall be dead pretty soon
Therefore let us act as if we were
dead already.

The bird sits on the hawthorn tree
But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot.
Woe! woe, etcetera . . . .

London is a woeful place,
Shropshire is much pleasanter.
Then let us smile a little space
Upon fond nature’s morbid grace.
Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera . . . .

Let's make a deal
that the smoke scented
taste of your tongue
will never leave mine.

I found a place within
my head where you and I
are still standing before
each other

in love.