Play On

Oh you,
you’ll be bad for business, you.
You’ll be the death of me,
the death of all I know and love.
Your eyes are just like his.
Just like I wanted mine to be.
It’s too late in the game to change these stripes,
too late in life,
too late for me.

Play on, blue-eyed boy,
play on and leave me be.
Play on, gold-haired son,
play on and forget me.

Ah you,
you’ll be bad for business, you.
You’ll be the death of me,
the death of all I know and love.
Your smile is just like his.
Just like I wanted mine to be.
It’s too late to do more than fantasize;
it’s too late to be
anything but me.

Play on, blue-eyed boy,
play on and leave me be.
Play on, sweet-lipped liar,
play on and forget me.

You with your pennywhistle voice and your bowstring tongue,
you with your birdsong eyes, and your bodhran heart.

They all think they know your name;
they all think they can curl their fist around you —
you’re a long ways off from settling yet,
and maybe I’ll take the next chance that I get,
and maybe I’ll run aways after you,
caught in your ship’s draft until I can pass you by —
this late in life,
maybe not too late for me.

Play on, blue-eyed boy,
play on; don’t forget me.
Play on, devil-eyed angel,
play on; and wait for me.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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