She tells me that convention
is a rusted, backroads sign.
And lookin' out for number one
is the heart of the great design.
She tells me that truth is a game
that loving strangers play
as they give love too freely
before taking it away.

I asked her to share my life
and just believe in me.
But looking out across the night,
she told me that it couldn't be.

How can you talk of commitment
in this liberated age,
when all you see is the darkness
that lies beyond the stage.
We stand in our painted faces,
smiling from our cage,
victims of these modern times,
choking on our polyunsaturated rage.

I asked her to take a chance,
Some times someone's gotta win.
But all she saw was the city,
offering my words to the wind.

So I left her to the fortress
she'd made of her heart.
A shadow in the corner,
indifference tore me apart.
But I knew I would recover,
and live to love again.
And I drew strength from the pain
that helps a soul to stand.

I asked her to share my life
and just believe in me,
but she gave herself to the night,
too afraid to ever be free.