The Lady and I.

We used to talk.
We used to talk for hours.
We’d talk about what was happening
What had happened
How perceptions changed.

The Lady and I

We would sit on marble steps
At the foot of immovable monuments
Or on ancient stones
At the feet of impossible mountains.
We’d sit in the quiet halls
Of accumulated humanity
And marvel at what we saw.

The Lady and I

But like Old Blue Eyes said,
That lady’s a tramp.
I don’t’ care that she speaks
To other guys
I don’t care if she’s dancing
One way or another
With some others
I don’t care.

But the lady is a tramp

Because she lies.
She doesn’t say the same thing
To any two people anymore
She swears up and down
That I’m the one
That he’s the one
That she’s the one.
And all of us think the others
Are trash
Because we know the Lady
Is a Lady.

But the lady is a tramp.

Which makes me wonder
If this “Lady” I’m talking to
Is really the real thing
Or just another fake
Masquerading in the lady’s face.

It makes you wonder
If the lady is a tramp
Whatever happened to the real deal?

I broke up with her of course.
Now we see each other
Across crowded rooms,
In old photographs
And half forgotten songs.

The Lady and I

I don’t think I ever really knew her
But I don’t think that will stop me
From looking
For the old flame that was

The lady and I.

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