Ah to dream about death and destruction,
What a damning trick of my mind, my dear.
To look at my life and see the reduction
Of it, to the beginnings; I see the fear
Etched on you, bountiful smile
My love
Wipe that grimace away, it is not for us
Don’t look at me like a thing from above.
I cannot be that which you think I must.
Draw me a line in the December dirt,
And don’t be a John to my Marilyn.
I want to believe that it didn’t hurt
You, to twist the knife as I let it in.
I’ve been getting ready for you for years
Now is the time to put away my fears.