Waiting
When you're lost in the clouds in the shroud of winter and there's a sharp rap tappin' at your creosote clad door,
And you know full well your proudest punchline no doubt will flounder in the wake of your rough scuff ballroom floor,
Whilst the soft scent of Jasmine barks at the sight of your once so prevalent, eloquent rapport,
You know I'll be waiting darlin', resting steady, salivating for your quick six shot pistol draw
When your masks of the butterfly fall without grace like rain from those cherub cheeks,
You clasp at the buttercups that sit chained tight to your leather wrapped Chelsea boot feet,
And a look of distained dismay blankets your distant wedding bell Champagne stained streets,
I'll sit here waiting darlin', steady resting, and gently claw you back from those jagged jaws of defeat
When the flowers you collected on that moonlit meadow morning, wilt and wither and fold back into the night,
When the colourless crisp frosted foliage underfoot, bends and melts at the dance of first light,
And as you sleep and sweat and dream upon your pure silk fantasy guilded white,
You know I'm waiting darlin, resting steady, to feel your skin warm soft close and tight
When your list of endless acquaintances gobble up the last of the Lion's share,
When you really weren't ready for that cold steel playground truth or dare,
And the schools, parents and prophets who never really did get your precise style, beauty and flair,
Eternally here waiting darlin', steady resting, cup half full, relaxing, basking sweet in the knowledge that your energy is there
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