Odes to be written by passions sick hand
Evening's sweet menace, revealing, inviting
Making love in strange autos whilst life’s ink
Blown in the winds of Aquarian tides
Rock 'n' roll Supermen, ghosts of new vice
Oh God, in some heaven whose number is seventeen
Echoed words spoken by token romantics
Dressed you in blue jeans this year
Brown-eyed and wise as the feminine fates
Nothing of value that hasn't yet vanished
Rules to be broken by reckless and young men
Night falling, hiding the poets transgression
Dressed you in blue jeans this year
Oh God, in some heaven whose number is seventeen
Ends and beginnings that never quite meet
Highways to paradise, gray lines of grace
Sings always that love is swift arrows, my dear
Making love in strange autos whilst life’s ink
Sings always that love is swift arrows, my dear
To torment my soul, oh, leave me alone
Envelopes marked for the personal life
Seeds to be sown on the rich fields of promise
Sunset encounters with destiny's chances
