summer time in back on my feet again

i often wonder who wrote the book of love...

and if we have faith in god above...

if the bible tells you to...

there are days i ruminate...

and days i'd like to masturbate...

to undignified and sultry photographs of you...

i'm too old for that...

far too old for days in spring...

when young mens fancies turn to things...

less dignified than spoken of...

and still my mind keeps wondering...

where did you go...

i know its later in the season than i would prefer...

greens and inks and white prevail...

and still i feel the chill on shores and open plains...

why cant the bitter days remain...

and suckle me in my great lament...

Mr. Blue Sky...

you are not me friend...