This one is from way-way back, but it has come round in a very wide gyre. I guess proletarian love never gets old.
I'd much rather talk about the Second Coming by W. B. Yeats, but I still lack the words to connect the dots. There definitely are points in time and thresholds in life, when the falcon and the falconer loose their shared language and no meta-narrative, no frame, no proverb holds true any more. Where do you turn then, is my question.
---
You worked late nights at the factory bar
You had a girlfriend named Margareth and a devilish laugh
When the lights went out, you led me upstairs
I took your clothes off in a company chair
The love we made was fervently rough
Your hands were coarse but your body was soft
And now that I know I am dreaming
I will ask you to dance anyhow
It is not about staying or leaving
Just this song and the things that are now
You got in your jeans, I wanted to know
If you had a choice, where would you go
There was dust in the air of the foreman's room
You want to be someone and want to be cool
Go to a college and hear the boys brag
Of the late nights out and the girls that they've had
This is all but the words have a meaning
And I know you will read very wrong
It is not about staying or leaving
It has been about us all along
