And if I was stronger, I could up and go.
But here I am, and here we go again
as my my mind wanders off to you,
sitting like a shadow beside you as
your hands float over the polished oldsmobile
for the next hour.
And baby, you've got the sort of hands
that could pull me closer to you,
gently wrapping me into the steady rhythm
of your breaths;
the sludge of spluttering cars
and chuckles tucked neatly into your back pocket.
And I wouldn't care if I danced with you
dressed in a gown drenched in diamonds
or fleece pajamas.
An ancient radio and a single light bulb or
a chandelier and orchestra wouldn't make a difference.
And, baby, I can see the amber, the emerald and maple leaves
that trickle down through the air in each gust of wind
every time you catch me staring at you.
every time you catch me staring at you.
And I can picture the fresh cut grass beneath your palms in the spring.
I could take you there, you know.
And if I was stronger, I'd hum about something else.
I'd walk down the cobblestone road, sketchbook in hand.
But here I am, and here we go again.
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