It doesn’t matter what she says,
It doesn’t matter how she feels.
She thinks we are on a wagon of love,
But we haven’t got any wheels
She pretends it’s going well
Pretends she’s got what she desires.
Together we may be,
But we are surrounded by fires.
We are both trapped in a circle,
And it’s one of make believe.
I am not her Adam,
She is not my Eve.
We are just there for each other,
We are just going through the motion.
This won’t be fixed by a spell,
There is no magic potion.
We are just filling in the gaps,
And passing each other hour’s
It doesn’t matter about the chocolates
Doesn’t matter about the flowers
Not fair on either of us
Can’t be what we need
I have hunger and passion
It’s only on love I feed
So I’m afraid it has to end
And I’ll let this time pass me by
For however long I am alone
I can’t live another lie
Mark Scotchford August 2004 ©