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Bordeaux Lip
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Interlude (Minus)
The days were delightful and the hours were light
Particularly when one was on one's own
And woke up in the middle of the night
Never less alone than when alone
Mornings which dawn dim but not quite white
If paler than paper, ivory or bone
Promised the gorgeous sights of trite daylight
Never less alone than when alone
The shape of the day, its realistic rite
Depends upon which way the dice are thrown
From right to left, or it might be, left to right
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But never less alone than when alone
Conceived in the depths but born upon the height
Where the mountains of tomorrow shone
The soul may take its solitary flight
Never less alone than when alone
Never less alone than when alone
Never less alone than when alone
Never less alone than when alone
Never less alone than when alone
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