Come, paint me by the fruit bowl,
power me with cheap coal,
keep me running for as long
as I could care to stand.

Come, walk along the mountain,
we'll meet beside the fountain,
I'll give you back that hour
you gave to me back then.

Come, talk to me over coffee,
in the softness of the city,
in the sweetest desperation
of a tune.

Come, listen to my sadness,
and preferential madness,
come listen to me play
my autocratic flute.

Come, indulge all my sorrow,
all the poetry I borrow,
from the poets with the sense
to avoid the 'I love you's'.

Come, meet me in the canopy,
high atop the balcony,
be the one to make
all my lucid dreams come true.

Come, hide under the bedsheets,
we'll play criminals and junkies,
we'll play until the birds
begin to sing over our ***.

Come, relax in my eyesight,
born upon the morning light,
come, kiss me in my new self,
on lands where only love,
is ever considered wealth.