Sometimes I've got too many lovers
and not enough steady friends
and I wake up too many mornings
with a bad case of the lover bends
We go down into our passion
and we let the hours run away
but when we come back into our real lives
its still the same as yesterday
Form ... illusion ... our hands now
the curvatures, our skin at play
I wake up too many mornings
burned out for another day
What does it matter if we cast ourselves
against each other this way
we're, still, each of us, alone inside
and passion cannot chase that away
But I still take my lovers
in ego dances and play
as if by my holding them
I could chases all my fears away.
gallagher
30 july 78
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —