Walking On Shattered Glass

Here I am once again walking on shattered glass,
Wondering if I’ve been crass, made myself an ass
In being too honest rather than presenting myself
As the finest and flawless individual,
Like a pianist who’s never played . . .
But, oh, did I ever pray about such a relationship,
And despite the kinship and so sweet fellowship,
My spirit knew that this could not really be true
And last, and this was the blast of sensible reality
And I did not have to be an actuary to calculate
What would eventually happen if I let this go on;
So gone are any dreams and illusions
But there is now a profusion of tears;
As I look back over many years, though, I know,
I know, and I have my tattered record to show
That in shattering the glass of illusory romance
I was not being crass, not making myself an ass;
No … I have simply been an honest man in truth


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