Hot breath,
Rough skin,
Warm laughs and smiling,
The lovliest words,
Whispered and meant
You like all these things.
But, though you like all these things,
You love a stone.
You love a stone,
Because it's smooth and it's cold.
And you'd love most,
To be told,
That it's all your own.
You love white veins,
You love hard grey,
The heaviest weight,
The clumsiest shape,
The earthiest smell,
The hollowest tone,
You love a stone.
And I'm found too fast,
Called too fond of flames,
And I'm phoning my friends,
And I'm shouldering the blame,
While you're picking pebbles,
Out of the drain,
Miles ago.
And you're out singing songs,
And I'm down shouting names,
At the flickerless screen,
Going fucking insane.
Am I losing my cool,
Overstating my case?
Well, baby what can I say?
You know I never claimed,
That I was a stone.
And you love a stone.
You love white veins,
You love hard grey,
The heaviest weight,
The clumsiest shape,
The earthiest smell,
The hollowest tone,
You love a stone.
You love a stone,
Because it's dark and it's old,
And if it could start,
Being alive,
You'd stop living alone.
And I think I believe that,
If stones could dream,
They'd dream of being laid,
Side-by-side,
Piece-by-piece,
And turned into a castle,
For some towering queen,
They're unable to know.
And when that queen's daughter
Came of age,
I think she'd be lovely
And stubborn and brave,
And suitors would journey,
From kingdoms away,
Just to make themselves known.
And I think that I know,
The bitter dismay,
Of a lover who brought,
Fresh brouquets every day,
When she turned him away,
To remember some knave,
Who once gave,
Just one rose,
One day,
Years ago.
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