the hunted look the haunted grace the empty laugh that you cultivate you fall into that false embrace and kiss the air about her face who do you think you are the tres bon mots you almost quote from your quiver of literary darts a thousand or so tuneless violins thrilling your cheap little heart who do you think you are my cigarette burns right down to the ash my coffee cup is unstained the waiter hovers close at hand his courtesy strained who do you think you are i close with my regards well i m the red face gentleman caught in this picture postcard who do you think you are trying my best to make the best of your absence though the joke gets tired and sordid and sea shell hearts get trampled under foot punchlines unrewarded but even at this distance it s not easy to accept the vision that i chase returns when i least expect it i ve fallen from your tired embrace i kiss the air around the place that should be your face