Sweetness through the air
        but I’m not with you
Guitars, a mandolin
        but I’m not with you
        I’m not with you!
Soft skin on my lips
soft lips on my skin
a boy on my lap
a fire in a box
a girl with a lovely voice
sings about lovely trees
wails about love, again —
        I’m not with you!
As the baby-boomers pass 50
and the postpunks scrape 40,
everybody claps
and my boy’s eyes are closed…
        but I’m not with you.
I lost you years ago
and all that’s left of you
are memories and masks,
clothes no longer fit,
and music I don’t hear.