I didn't make this bed to sleep alone and dream
of love lost before raw buds of life's silentest spring
but here I hold myself away from fresh despair
daring not to breathe the garden's sadly perfumed air.
I wrought a clement paradise where love should surely grow
but now I find beyond all hearts the darkness none should know.

Where is love? I ask myself
when I toil so long, to make our home safe and strong
and watch us wither in its shell?
Where is hope; can none tell me
if angels bring such hell?
You left me
alone with your fear...

If you set me free, I'd try to divine
a place I could still bear to be
or I'd wander the night
like a perfect born blind man, too dumb to fight;
or if you'd admitted you never were real
I might have denied this fate; my love less torn,
I'd not have thrown the rest of my life away.
But I can't really know that.
I'm only the broken-eyed man
who bet it all on your game
and it's too late to fold this damned hand.

This bed wasn't made to sleep in alone
and I weary of waiting and watching the phone.
I dreamt I could spend my life with you
and it seemed almost here, but dreams don't come true.

I just wanted someone to come home to...




© G. Cassel 2004