You Don't Love Me

You don't love me, you don't care at all,

Am I not even a little handsome, after all?

You're lost in passion, never meeting my gaze,

Your hands are on my shoulders in a hazy daze.

Young and bold, with a grin so sly,

I'm not too gentle, and I'm not too shy.

Tell me, how many have you held so tight?

How many hands, how many lips in the night?

I know they passed like shadows in the rain,

They never touched the fire inside your vein.

You sat on many men's knees, one by one,

And now you're here with me beneath the sun.

Let your half-closed eyes drift to someone new,

While I'm lost in thoughts I hold so dear and true.

Don't call this passion fate, don't make it grand,

It's just a fleeting spark across the sand.

A careless, sudden thing, a moment's play,

Just as I met you by chance along the way.

I'll smile and walk away with steady breath,

No storm inside, no echo of regret.

And you will go your own way, day by day,

Scattering joyless hours as they fade away.

Just don't touch those who've never felt the flame,

Don't tempt the ones who've never played the game.

And when you walk the side street hand in hand,

Talking of love with someone new, across the land,

Perhaps I'll take a stroll when skies are gray,

And we'll meet again on some forgotten day.

You'll turn your shoulders closer to his side,

Lean down a little, calm and satisfied,

Then whisper softly, "Good evening, you."

I'll say, "Good evening, miss," and walk away, so cool.

And nothing will disturb the quiet of my soul,

Nothing will make it tremble, nothing take its toll.

He who has loved can never love the same,

He who's been burned by fire cannot burn again.