From the recording Santa Fe

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Too Soon to Worry (And Too Late to Care)
©1980 Michael R. J. Roth

The rain pours its heart out
on crumbling leaves
as a sit by the fire
of the six o'clock news.
And the angel beside me
fingers me, and says,
"So tell me, how long
have you lived here?"

There's a full moon, unblinking,
that I've called so many names,
and I've changed them again,
but it comes back the same.
And there's a wish-granting tree
on a poster from Tibet
where we lie down to dream
of other lovers.

Now you plug your life
like some real estate deal,
and I admire the view
while you slip away.
and I see you by the river
melting into a new flame,
and I call out your name
like a warning.

And I sing of passion,
and anger, and pain,
time past and to come,
and the need to move on.
But I crumple like paper,
needing sleep more than a dream.
Oh damn, I never wrote you
a love song.