Up from the pastures of boredom
out from the sea of discontent
they come in packs like hungry hounds
the seekers of the dark enchantment
They haunt the boulevards and bars
they pray to wishing wells and stars
they ride the hurricane of hope
not looking back but on they go
toward the distance and deceiving
and all the while they keep believing
that they are special and apart
the lovers, the lovers of the heart… the lovers
And when they pair off two by two
they feel they are the chosen few
and though their beds are made of straw
they feel like velvet in the night
and so the night is never ending it