Steal a glance my way,
Darling,
You'll never look too long.

And take my missing sleep,
My love,
It'll only make me strong

You can keep a shirt or two
Love of mine,
Just swipe one from my drawer

Rob me of my books,
My pet,
For I can read no more

Take my ridiculous social constructs,
Baby,
They're useless anyhow.

And you can have my money,
My dear,
Don't pay me back, now.

Steal a kiss or two,
Dear love,
But never kiss and tell.

But never steal my heart,
Lover,
I'll never want it back.

And by the way we stood today
I almost forgot
That we weren't together

Stop shaking*
Stop Shaking!
I have my head under the sleeping bag
And an unkown feeling in my heart
Something i'm too scared to say
Hanging on to your every word
I'm so scared
Scared of myself
And how I feel for you
Maybe if I could just stop shaking
I could think straight

What is the use of rites and group-think,
This long-term stay in the communal mind;
When all we know can be cast asunder
Like individuated snow?

And where is the profit in humiliation,
When all autonomy must go?
For I don’t care about tax and freedom,
If it’s your oxygen I share.

Oh, how does it feel to breathe the coastline
Whilst I slave away in Flares?
Can you still see that ark of memories:
The footprints leading out of the sea?

Who are you to define what love is?
All I can see is symmetry:
The fish I caught returned to the river,
To the fluidity I have sought.

And why do I keep old train tickets,
From the journeys I have bought?
For all the miles that have worn at my shoes,
I am still forcing smiles,
Still unable to choose.

A mood is lifting,
As we tilt our chins up to face the rain.
This bitter detox has been hard to swallow,
A new range of old stone tablets,
Decreeing buy and sell, buy and sell,
And that everything can be owned.

We have defined ourselves
By the patterns of the weather.
Capricious friend, my book companion;
Steer with me now, across the bend
And into insanity. We can embroider
Limbs over our Sunday mattress,
And salute the new week
In ****** and teenage songs.

I’ll take you through the bridleway.
These approved paths of nature,
Contrived and confined by beaten mud
And memories of the 585 bus departing.
I will hold your hand
But not hold you to anything,
Freeing up the paths you made
Before ours intersected.

Yes, and take me to that barren farmland
Where you learned to drive.
The mud-splatter and swearing
Contained within it the only happy memory
Your father ever gave you.
This mood is lifting as we indulge each other,
As we laze into love;
As we warm by the flame.