Liam the lover entertains his congregation
They smile, the pleasure’s all there’s
And they laugh and they applaud as he holds their attention
The master of ceremonies, he is king.
But pretty soon time will take him away
Alone without a soul to soothe, he will stay
And he can’t seem to see or understand
That there’s more to understand
Patrick the painter sets his quill to the canvas
He smiles, he’s where he loves to be
And in magenta and lime, he will fly
Across the cream oasis and black India line
But pretty soon time will take him away
Without a real life to live, he will stay
And he can’t seem to see or understand.
Liam makes her laugh
As Patrick paints the feel
Of her hair
Across his face
He says goodnights
He cleans the black ink from the quill
Left with a space the other’s filled
And there they lay
The lover’s grin relaxes as
Dalmatian-spotted, callused fingers
Stare across the room
and see the other cry
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