Some people keep lovers as baubles,
As pretty and perfect, untrue,
They’re better in glass, and kept in the past
Than gone to unusual hues.
Their children are kept as their children,
Their parents are left in their graves,
And their blissful beloved romances
Are frozen and stiff and depraved.

My lover,
My lover of old,
Withered and wild and wan,
Let me be, darling, let me be,
Let me be just as I am.
You’ll never know,
The person you’ve sown
If everyone sticks to the plan.

Memories sit at a standstill,
Beware of the novel and new,
If lovers in glass should shatter at last
They’ll leave to unusual views.
Maintain to the crystal tradition
Cling to the old and the weak
Close all the curtains and lock all the doors,
Your trinket could linger asleep.

Dear lover,
Dear lover of gold,
Smiling and sunny and bland
Let me be, darling, let me be,
Let me be just as I am.
You’ll never keep
Your trinket asleep,
Unless everyone sticks to the plan.

This bauble was made out of lightning,
This trinket’s conducting a coup,
You think that I’m frail, and that I will fail,
And leave with unusual blues -
But I’d rather the blues over bubbles,
And better a bubble than you.
Because, darling, you weren’t watching -
I’m going and growing and grew.