Coda

At night as we’ve lain back to back,

I could not rest and thought, ‘Is there

Some vital organ that I lack?’

I must have lost it. Oh, but where?

Now every crowd of people here

I comb through looking for your face.

Ashamed I yield to my own fear;

I flee what I did once embrace.

Should we now meet, dear gods, I ask,

‘Have ye still courage left to spare?

Hide me behind a tearful mask.’

Forgive me that I don’t despair.