Falling in and out of love is an

 

inevitable experience for minstrels

 

Longing for elusive radio airplay

 

The price is that the look she had

 

For me is the look you had for him

 

I promised her nothing and neither did he

 

These insecure songs tremble in the desert

 

Breeze, then hang on little clotheslines

 

A lesson to learn and the sound it makes

 

The tones of anguish when a love has vanished.

                                                        TQ