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O

                        
                              ( she my love is quite the rage )


O



In describable life

The magic is only dimly seen

But in the darkness of hidden dream

The demons and the saints do play

Mighty games of make - believe

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And you are born



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We are of a sacred lot

We run we jump we throw them *****
Right thru them hoops

Like good boys should

But sometimes freedom is understood

And a sense of destiny remains


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We walk fragile days

Into the heart of hell where love dwells

In tenemented poverty

Amid the neon sirens of the police


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She my love is all the rage

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Oh dear child don't you weep



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