I live in the Valley of the Roads,
And don't even know it.
The man at the bar, he measures life
In the price of barrels of oil.
No one wants to look at cause and effect;
It's an ugly dance, but somebody's got to do it.
I saw you at the symphony tonight,
There in the back row, with the violins,
Your hair (the way you fold it, swath on swath);
I saw your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips,
Slant of the neck, the way her body swayed,
Your childlike, wide-eyed stare—and every time
That she would glance the notes, you would appear—
And every time she'd tilt her head, you'd be no longer there.