Postscript

Postscript
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The quiver of your lips
The flicker of your pupils
The shiver in your arms
That held on to mine

I was so desperate to believe
The smile on your face
The style of your refinement
The guile of your sophistication

You were playing your part, and I mine
The lights on the stage
The flights of your brilliance
The nights in white satin

I planned it, I knew it, I led it and I shred it
The script and web of innuendo and illusion
So, why do I bleed real blood?
Why can’t I stop my tears from falling? Why?