It's not for the want of wanting that I wish I wanted you,
but you make it easier to make my mask and disappear into the blue.

I could wonder all the wondering what this wonderful life has been and I'd never know the half of all those things I used to dream, but you thought of me in sepia, someone old that fades too soon while I thought of you as crescent shaped like the beginnings of the moon.

We have to live to understand yet can't stand ignorance and yet again we wash out pain, pretend like Gene to sing and dance when it's pouring down with rain.


We're all the films that we used up and time just clicked away and now the shutter shuts with a final clang and
the footman comes in slowly saying,
'was that you that
rang'? but
I never called for the thin man in the black car to come by and it's not for the lack of living that I found my time to die.

'Don't waste a minute', said the miser, 'in yer bin', the cockney cried and for the want of wish of wanting I curled up and then I died.