In ten days when I land in London Don't come looking for me in the park. Don't go searching the alleys in Camden I won't wait at my favourite landmark. I'll be looking through different venues Watching closely the people I love. Getting tired of marvelous hypocrites, whose Affections are shown with the glove .
They say at the moment before your death, You will have a piece of life flash before your eyes. I wonder if it will catch my baby’s breath, Or my very first butterflies. I hope I will see all that is good, Not my first love, but my last. I hope I do not see the horrors of my childhood, Or if I do, I hope it goes fast. When my time comes, I hope it is filled With all the I love And all that I have fulfilled, Warming my heart like a woollen glove.
It behaved as the young dove, I started chasing elusive love, It shielded its valuable trove, I found it hidden in the cove, It smelt so fresh like the clove, I gave it a much needed shove, It fumbled right into my glove.
They say that love fits like a glove. But love doesn't fit like a glove. We fit into dozens of gloves throughout our lives. We use a new pair every winter, We cherish them when the cold hits But when the trees turn back to green The scarves fall to the floor We forget about sweaters and warm blankets… The gloves disappear somewhere in a closet where we can never find one or the other again. It doesn’t bother us. We buy a new pair. Miss the warmth of the previous one, Maybe miss the familiarity of a pair that fit perfectly for a while but then…
Then we forget.
And it goes on and on. So love doesn’t fit like a glove. Love doesn’t fit. Love torns.
**But it is so worth it
Winter is coming and I have nothing to cover my hands