Leaving Young

The woman I love is in a glass box.
We sit and talk for hours.
When I’m not out kicking around in my handcuffs,
I’m a songbird. The songs are ours.
One night long ago, we picked a flower.
We picked a time. We picked a star.
And I set out across the rooftops.
I still haven’t stopped. Stay where you are.

-CHORUS
What I am is on my face.
What I see is on my tongue.
I’ve got a love I can’t replace.
Off to older, leaving young.

The woman I love is in a glass box.
Strange locks of space and time.
It hurts to hold what you can’t touch,
but if love is true much, this one is mine.