and how could you have known how i felt
when i rarely knew myself
but someone had told me you were seeing a singer and you had told me he were only a man
we kissed in moonlight, we kissed beneath star laden skies
to me you felt like Garcia's realism, you always took me someplace else
but my eyes too oft betrayed my soul when i with friends and you absent they would talk.
and your singer, your singer, your artist, your poet my childlike jealous mind would inspire,
while myself all the time would fight and strain to try and maintain that small and fragile love tie between us , that barely
perceptible gossamer thread. . . ...
by me