No Peace
There is no peace in passion:
In Love, there is no hope.
Feminine wiles and masculine guiles
Will wrap your neck with rope.
Your lover's eyes might beckon you
With a sweet domestic dream,
With a fire in the fireplace
And feasts of thick, rich cream;
But behind the games, between the lies
And the raging jealous fits
Nothing real would ever reveal
Itself to hypocrites.
Streams from all the dumps we've made
Flow through us day by day,
We search for Bliss, but always miss,
We don't know Love from clay.
I lie, you cheat, he suffers much
For Love he cries and prays.
It is so rare, I think it's fair
To say: It's never come this way.
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