I brush your hair and talk of things You still remember The torch that lit the songs we’d sing Now just an ember I pour the tea You study me And wonder why I still come by. I dig out photos of the boys More reminiscing Now in a house devoid of noise Each night you listen A vigil kept While fear has crept Into a mind That’s been confined. Sinatra’s on the radio And works his magic This world which you no longer know At once, less tragic It was our song You hum along Then understand And take my hand
I gave my heart to you, my love One February night Invoking all that’s up above I prayed you’d hold it tight. And after we had made romance (for that’s what I still call it) You rose and gave a loving glance Then made off with my wallet. The next day you were seen at lunch With someone I don’t know But looking back, I have a hunch It was with your new beau. I hope the roasted Cornish hen And champagne went down well Before they came right up again And cleared the whole hotel. According to my Visa bill You both then saw a play A great night out is greater still When you don’t have to pay. Despite the slight cost overrun At least I’m not alone For in your haste to kiss and run You left behind your phone. And so, my love, for us it ends As does your victory lap For you’ve just texted all your friends To say you’ve got the clap.