WANDERING SOUL

Don't speak.

You needn't tell me.

The look in your eye - the left one -

tells me all I need to hear.

You'll be leaving, I can tell,

eventually.

Eventually, you will fly from here

or drive away in a dusty moped

kicking off for parts unknown.

It's as clear as your voice when you sing your Springsteen.

"Tramps like us..." you mutter,

leaving the rest to silence.

Your wandering soul will take you from me.

Your wandering soul must make you flee.

Your wandering soul makes you see

you needn't stay here with me.

I wish that I could chain you

nail you; bind you to a cross of guilt

or plyboard

and make you remain

indefinitely with me.

But were I to contain your wandering soul

you'd be even less with me

than you would otherwise.

Maybe it's worth the risk.

I must ponder this

and decide

before you go...

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