|A Fashion Of Forsaking
Lyric by Clive James, music by Pete Atkin
To stand there in the gentle London rain
Before a house I'm never to return to;
And wave farewell and never call again
Or write or telephone although I burn to;
To find and put away my heart's desire
And let it rest and never reawaken;
To call that good and know myself a liar:
Every bit of this I've undertaken.
A single room lit softly for a night:
A stranger owning even less that I did;
A whole room on the floor, even the light
Too soft to even penetrate my eyelid;
The rustle from her wall of paper flowers;
The way she laughed outright to see me waken;
And all her tiny magic healing powers:
Every bit of this have I forsaken.
And now my place is taken.