Pitter-Pat Poem by Mark Bratlie

Well, she ran across my doorway in the middle of the night
I could only catch a fateful fleeting glance
Now I glimpse the same sleek body as I gaze across the room
So I cruise right up and ask her for a dance

We hold each other gently as the band plays us a waltz
And we talk in tones that no one else can hear
Her smile is inviting and I surely can't resist
Even though I know a painful fall is near

I ask to be her escort as the band packs up to go
We stroll out through the cool crisp autumn air
She puts her hand in my hand as my heart goes pitter-pat
And I never hear the voice that calls 'beware'

I always seem to long for the things I haven't got
And I only understand when it's a song
I feel so sad when I should feel glad
And I'm always holding out for what is gone

Well, sure enough she drops me like a goddamn lead balloon
As I fall to places that I've been before
I thought this would be different as it felt so right and true
But I always stagger through the same old door

Now the fantasy has faded, I'm the only one who cares
And I feel like I've been flattened by a truck
Instead of facing clearly what has once more come to be
I believe I'll blame it on my old bad luck

I always seem to long for the things I haven't got
And I only understand when it's a song
I feel so sad when I should feel glad
And I'm always holding out for what is gone
Yes, I'm always holding out for what is gone