Riddle Rhyme, Riddle Dee. ( Middle C ).

1984

No rhyme, or reason, in the beckoning call,
Just a sweetness that's blind to illusion.
No shame, or glory, in the night long squall,
Just simplicity of emotion in collusion.
So steady rock this is, so steady rock and real,
Like you, like me, like all our feeling.

And in that you'll find no confusion.

Different worlds they fall apart,
They're all the same,
There's you, there's me, there's freedom.
We sleep as people always have
And grow hungry in the morning.

But night and day, they're not the same,
The day grows cold before the evening.
And thoughts stray far in love and war.
So still no meaning.

You mark the time with curtain calls,
You play the game, you ask no questions.
And I, I have to know it all to score the days,
To turn away, forget the scenery.
See death and war inside my head,
I see no love, no dreaming.
For hell is bent upon destroying man;
Hell man; man hell: he's not so squeamish.

The simple times are human times;
I want no hell, no meanings.
The quality of all we doubt is gone in moments fleeting.
When love enjoined, or purely sex, or crise de joie is dreaming.

I thank you sweet, for all you gave, for all the moments
dreaming,
When we made love, and I found out the purposelessness of
meaning.
Fill up my head with pretty dreams, reality of living,
And I'll find out if after all, I too am only dreaming.



                                                                                 jimtom...say?