No Tent for It
I am so jealous of the callous world you now share
yourself with, as you shared it with me.
yourself with, as you shared it with me.
I was not so callous.
Perhaps had I been, or could ever be,
you might would still be my country gallant?
Palms my hands filled with the feathers let by
the falcon you encountered the day
I stayed in the car, sick with disease.
you might would still be my country gallant?
Palms my hands filled with the feathers let by
the falcon you encountered the day
I stayed in the car, sick with disease.
Why am I so diseased?
Some who love me much have told me
it is my beauty. Disables some men, and me,
not you, apparently. Or maybe I did disable you,
somehow twisting your limbs round the wrong
way, like you became in my charge the contortionist
in a picaresque circus. I was ribald, maybe, failed
miserably in my role as ringmaster.
it is my beauty. Disables some men, and me,
not you, apparently. Or maybe I did disable you,
somehow twisting your limbs round the wrong
way, like you became in my charge the contortionist
in a picaresque circus. I was ribald, maybe, failed
miserably in my role as ringmaster.
