I have been both lover and beloved, unrequited
dispassionate and quiet around you.
And when I am old, when the skin under my eyes
stretches to wrap around the things I've seen,
what will it mean that I didn't take a chance on you?
Didn't get lost in a glance from you?
This fragile balance, this delicate palace where one left
puts two people on two different paths.
But if I hold out my hands to you
it doesn't make it right, it doesn't make it right.
I want more for my life than my name in lights,
my name in lights!
I've read books and understood them,
understood the looks you gave me
when I sent you a letter from Bennington
telling you that I couldn't leave his grave without a poem of my own
and all I wrote about was having you and not having you.
I want more for my life than my name in lights!
