The thing that you wanted from the start
The thing that could steal your heart
A voice calming after dark
Of love
Do you want to know the secret
Do you want to heal your past
Do you want to touch heaven
Do you want to drink that glass
Well then, I cannot help you
I come from other design
I come from makeshift ensign
I, from love
Did Shakespeare write an ode
So beautiful and betrothed
To any heart
That wasn’t true
Then if, per chance
You smoke and you dance
You cry at the chance
Of revolution . . .
