Why are they holding their own hands,
why are they sleeping on shoulders,
caressing their noses
and scrubbing their toses
in song?
What's up with them?
Why are they running in fall
through the summer-like sky
in the wind
four degrees cooler, they said,
through the cobble
-stone steps of somebody else's design?
What's up with them?
Why is alcohol holy
in the shotglass of history and
once they have drunk this they see
a strange sight
he's picking her up
and she's having the time
of her life?
What's up with them?
--That all of her friends
and all of his friends
and all of their friends
are scratching their heads,
and innuendo flies
through the summer-like skies
but it's autumn
and everything changes?
What's up with them?
They don't know themselves,
but it has something to do
with a keyboard for two
and the waning verdue
and a cross
in his shirt
and more girls
on the other end of his life
and her ear
while she fetches boys on with her
curled little finger
and soft breathy laughter
won't mask much but what they don't want to hear?
What's up with them?
Why aren't they together
when no one can stand to see them
apart?
Why aren't they together,
when no one can tell whether
he's breaking
or she's breaking
her heart?