We can live from day to day
pretending we love love,
but we both know that some time soon
there'll be a damp-dank afternoon
that needs a push, a heave, a shove
to make it go away.
You'll look at me, and I at you,
we'll look away and back,
we'll mumble some small common-place
then want to take it back,
alone together in one place
but stuck with self-stuck glue.
How horrid are the times one spends
imprisoned in such chains,
how empty are the desert sands
that follow grassy plains,
but we with hands, our bleeding hands,
will moan to make amends.
Lets cut away our self-made ties,
and say we love not love
for we both know that we'll not grieve
to not hold lifeless glove.
Lets sit alone in looming eve
repeating self-made lies.