A-Side 2:22 a.m. I steaming cup honey-sweet milk in the kitchen where we first tasted bulgar pilaf between strangely nervous kisses, three in the morning bodies anticipating the quenching of erotic thirst II i sleepwalk thru the memory of you, hoping to touch the figure of my imagination like a wayward ghost i haunt my own dreams wandering over the fens of my broken heart III we can never change the past but the tender heart has brought its own portable time-travelling machine in the hopes of replaying History and rewriting the script ready to insert a telephone book-thick stack of revisions footnotes annotations apologias errata & addendum maybe a new prologue preface to the latest edition a postscript & epilogue of emotional reforms edited with hindsight & kindly constructive criticism Who's Keeping Score, Anyway It's like a game Where all the rules Keep changing, altering Or don't apply anymore. It's like a game, isn't it With no goal but That of staying in For your own sanity. A game whose Greatest players are Only a fiction Only a play. I can handle the days —it's the nights I can't get by The price of staying in Hanging in, hold tight Here she comes round Again & again, hold tight.