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HUNGARIAN LOVE SONGS
Hungarian love songs played on strings
In a restaurant in New York;
I sit beside him, talking savoir faire
And wearing hair
From a magazine’s
Paper dreams.
And he’s needful
And I’m graceful,
And then he’s grateful
And then I’m gone.
Back to paperbacks and broken things
In a rented house near a bank,
Dealing daily with the flesh and the blood
And the certainty
Of uncertainty
In a man.
And I’m needful
And he’s graceful,
And then I’m grateful
And then he’s gone.
He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.
Isn’t it funny
How everybody’s after glory,
Glory, easy glory.
Everybody wants a story.
I want to read me in the news.
I always write my own reviews.
I want to be united
Without paying the union dues.
But love isn’t free.
Fantasy feels free, but it can cost you dearly.
Buyer, beware,
Better take care that you see your purchase clearly.
And better believe
In things that won’t leave
You longing for lost
Hungarian love songs.
For there are love songs lined on your face
And dreams I cannot give.
I stay beside you and I pray for grace
Like a scalpel blade
To cut this waste
While we still live.
For we’re needful
And we’re graceful,
And then we’re grateful
And then we’re gone.
We’re all needful
And we’re graceful,
And then we’re grateful
And then we’re gone.
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