She went out into the night
On a hunt for dreams,
She called it Longing--
For somewhere she’s never been.
It’s like taking home along
Instead of leaving it behind
Who said home had to be
a place that you find?

It’s growing younger when you’re getting old
It’s watching the sun fall
it’s standing on the 38th floor
And feeling so very small.
It’s reading old books
In a dead king’s library
it’s walking through time
In a castle’s memory.
It’s running through a Paris rain
It’s the taste of London gin
It’s the gypsy singer in Naxos
With music on her skin.
It’s the snow in Switzerland
The mountains calling you,
It’s the grey river of Frankfurt
The lonely drunks tell stories to.
It’s the red sheets that are hanging,
In Lisbon’s sleepy streets
It’s the ocean of Greece
Restless at your feet.
It’s the gold dust off Jerusalem
It’s the camel’s silhouette
It’s waking up each morning
In a different bed.
But it’s not what you’re thinking
Not that you’d ever know,
Because her body’s not her own--
It’s for the open road.



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