Song

Late one evening heard a woman sigh,
murmuring low as I walked on by.

Should be going fast, but I’m sitting here in bed,
reading a book, going slow instead.
Man on the telly singing a song,
all about a love that is going wrong,
should be going fast, but slow’s what I need,
so, I can think of his fingers as they press on the keys.
Going fast, going slow, what’s it going to be,
how I wish those fingers were playing chords on me.
Should be going fast, but I’m sitting alone,
yearning for a man, who is long, long gone.

Late one evening heard a woman sigh,
murmuring low as I walked on by.

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