|
You paint your picture quickly |
|
Not guided by the hour |
|
Instinctively believe it |
|
While I work at it for hours |
|
You hope that it comes quickly |
|
And you hope that it will dazzle |
|
Your mind is not on reaching |
|
The games the road you travel |
|
I'm silent like a shadow |
|
My lovelight tenders embers |
|
The blank pages lying fallow |
|
Are for love songs of tomorrow |
|
We travel all so closely |
|
Revolution choice of weapon |
|
All looking for our future |
|
While we moan below our curfew |
|
So I'll take you to the country |
|
With a picnic full of treasure's |
|
Disguised and blinded slightly |
|
Playing games for pleasures only |
|
Where we'll paint our picture slowly |
|
Not guided by the hour |
|
And leave the gates wide open |
|
For all the other lovers |