Friend, you are asking me if what you've done is all right:
To hold her and love her flesh as if it is life's last air
But to have her heart wrapped around you only for one night?
And I'm stumbling to an answer in my own heart
I'm hem-hawing between the see-saw of wrong and right.
Meanwhile, I've got a kitchen to clean and boys to feed,
And my son's blankie to launder before the dark night.
When I hand him the warm rag he clasps it tight and thanks me.
He doesn't know it's my heart wrapped in that clean lovey.
Some day, when he's a man, I hope we can talk. Honestly.
I hope when he holds a woman that he'll know he can ask me
About the things he can't distinguish in her eyes.
I hope he will understand when I tell him the truth about one night.
She might taste like the last drop, she might take you out of yourself
And fly you out of your desert place for clean air, for forever.
She might be your one and only taste of heaven.
O Friend, you are asking me, but I don't think you want the answer.