And I'm grown I have logic and wisdom and clarity
And I know about magic and reason and the disparity
And as I'm ticking down the days
To whatever time is left
Of my senses it seems I have become bereft
I am undone I am once again undone
By beauty I am mostly always undone
I have an existential understanding of
What the poets mean when they refer to love
But he's The Last Boy
Whom the gods have sent to lark
As I am thus destroyed
And my will and all my years lay in the balance
As I'm veering towards this consecrated openness
My weary soul is faint and failing fast
And this longing gaze I take may be the last of me
And he shambles in all the right ways
Flinching, caught by the light
In such bewitching disarray
Oh scoop him up and drop him back into the nest
Take his fledgling hands and find him rest, oh
When I am ashen and my voice has fallen dark
His confectionary face
Will sweetly flutter across my heart
Acute perception, such a blessing and affliction
Ruling recklessly when coaxing forth affection
From The Last Boy
But he's The Last Boy
Whom the gods have sent to lark
As I am thus destroyed
And my will and all my years lay in the balance
As I'm veering towards this consecrated openness
My weary soul is faint and failing fast
And this longing gaze I take may be the last of me
And at my end of days I'll cover all the mirrors
Find this well worn page and with coyness linger here
With The Last Boy
But he's The Last Boy
Whom the gods have sent to lark
As I am thus destroyed
And my will and all my years lay in the balance
As I'm veering towards this consecrated openness
My weary soul is faint and failing fast
And this longing gaze I take may be the last of me