... and tonight, i'm not going to struggle against merely reproducing song lyrics. here we have two v. different sides of a similar story, and who's singing which side might surprise you. but whomever is singing your song tonight; whether you think romance is bunk or you're a fool for it (or both), i hope you are content this evening; and if not content, then striving. xoxo.
lush life i used to visit all the very gay places, those come-what-may places, where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life to get the feel of life from jazz and cocktails. the girls i knew had sad and sullen grey faces, with distingué traces that used to be there, you could see where they'd been washed away by too many through-the-day twelve o'clock tales. then you came along with your siren song to tempt me to madness. i thought for a while that your poignant smile was tinged with the sadness of a great love for me. ah, yes! i was wrong, again, i was wrong. life is lonely again, and only last year everything seemed so sure. now, life is awful again. a troughful of hearts could only be a bore. a week in paris will ease the bite of it. all i care is to smile in spite of it. i'll forget you, i will, while yet you are still burning inside my brain. romance is mush, stifling those who strive. i'll live a lush life in some small dive. and there i'll be, while I rot with the rest of those whose lives are lonely too. | the fourteenth of february i wish that i could remember the first moment that we met. if only i could remember that sweet moment when we met. if i knew then that i would spend the rest of my life with you, i imagine i would have held your gaze a little longer when first our eyes met. did it rain or did sunshine attend our first meeting? what words were said? what weight given to that first greeting? my diary doesn't help, i don't even mention your name until that summer, when bloomed the seed sown on the first day that we met. i know the date, i know the place where it happened yet in my mind, the scene i recall is imagined. as we grow old i'm sure there will be moments that we will not forget but i would remember something of the moment that we met. |
1 comment:
Coltrane: tears. Actual tears. Not because of Valentine's Day. Just because of the music.
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