Mar 2015
I've been a fool.
I've been a fool, it's true.
Now I live without you,
Without you in my life,
Not holding you each night.
I can't go on,
I don't want to go on without you.
If it gets lonely in the dark of night,
Think about the light,
I used to bring,
And then we'd sing.
There was a time when you were mine.
If in autom you're sad when leaves are falling,
And there is no voice calling
Out your name,
Just refrain
To a time when you were mine.
Everytime the phone rings
And there's a silence on the line,
Or if you search for something lost,
It's me you'll find
At the end of the mystery.
Though I'm an old man and I am tired,
I'll never tire of loving you.
So let the summer turn to fall,
Let the winter **** it all,
It's born again in spring,
When all the hurtful things we've said, we've shed,
No, they won't mean a thing.
If you're alone and you can't stop crying.
Cry,
Cry for me, too.
I'll weep for you.
There was a time when you were mine.
I've been a fool, it's true.
Now I live without you,
Without you in my life,
Not holding you each night.
I can't go on,
I don't want to go on without you.
If it gets lonely in the dark of night,
Think about the light,
I used to bring,
And then we'd sing.
There was a time when you were mine.
If in autom you're sad when leaves are falling,
And there is no voice calling
Out your name,
Just refrain
To a time when you were mine.
Everytime the phone rings
And there's a silence on the line,
Or if you search for something lost,
It's me you'll find
At the end of the mystery.
Though I'm an old man and I am tired,
I'll never tire of loving you.
So let the summer turn to fall,
Let the winter **** it all,
It's born again in spring,
When all the hurtful things we've said, we've shed,
No, they won't mean a thing.
If you're alone and you can't stop crying.
Cry,
Cry for me, too.
I'll weep for you.
There was a time when you were mine.
The opening stanza was the start of a poem I'd intended to write. Around the same time, in '97, I was writing another poem that had a similar cadence and theme (the obsession that can come with a hard break-up and not being able to let go) I decided the two poems would work well together. The two stanzas that act as back to back bridges actually add a sense of balance to the architecture of the finished piece. I call it architecture because the process of arranging this one, for me, was a lot like erecting a structure from a variety of componants. I know this one is dated. (the phone still had a line) I promise some new material is coming.
