A mistress lost but not forgot,
Guinevere to my Launcelot,
My ramrod droops, my bullets' shot,
But still I can forget her not.
Those
teenage moments snatched and brief,
My wandring hand that searched beneath,
Never a lover, just a thief,
I lost my chance and grieved my grief...
I could
have sat her on my throne,
I could have learned her hard trombone,
We could have played the loving moan,
Of music that we played alone...
I dug
myself a willing hole,
Not for my body but my soul,
T'was never mine; I always stole,
I rode the road but paid no toll.
But now
we've grown from boys to men,
And now, I have that chance again,
And leaving lust can I befriend,
To her, me, him may make amend..?
Andy
Morley December 17th 2003