In place of strife
In a life of opportunity
And always being the last to leave
Not seeing those lost in left behind love
Tastes of freedom, seasons
Of spring, of summer, of autumn
Winters turn, burn
Dumb again, left for reasons of love
Paisley shirts, floppy felt hat
With a touch so intimate
A gait, the trait, it's late
Don't hesitate, imagine that
Yes to fancy being the anchor of love
