"The Troubadour and The Buffoon"

If there is a troubadour singing
It is me.
If there is a buffoon practicing
It is she.

If there was one to be memory
Deleted it will be
If there was nine shes
They’d never come to me

This is what it was
And it is what it is
So I placed her images
Unclothed and uncertain
In such a special place
Atop of the highest castle

And if she had chosen to be
While she was under me
Then I would be left coyly placed here
Crouched, smiling openly
Me, alone, on my knees
Her little little fantasy

This is what it was
And it is what it is
I will leave it to die
And let her see
Leave her to be and breath me
Maybe with other eyes see
This was as good as it gets

She was all the images inside
Now pushing their way
Right out of my mind
I was a fool for love
And yes, I was blind
She made believe
That once she was mine

If there is a troubadour singing
It is she.
If there is a buffoon practicing
It is me.  

If there was one to be memory
Deleted it will be
If there was nine shes
They’d never come to me.

< | >
.......................................................................................................................................................