I wrote a love letter
And every line bled the blood
Of the truth I was suffering
And wanting to tell.
I said, “I never had a lot of women.
Only the half-crazy ones touched my wavelength.”
Their dementia gave them desperation
And I knew right away
I would ride with them when they said, “Come along.`
Then there were the stupid ones I followed
Because their stupidity
Was draped in some endearing habits,
And I knew they would take their clothes off
Just for me.
Most were virgins - or were they?
And in our frolic we only kept
Then they were girls,
Now they are women,
And I yearn for them like a fortune
Almost at hand.
“Come along!”they called,
And I played the game until they leaped off some cliff calling, “Come along!”
And I could not follow.