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When he moves I watch him from behind
he turns and laughter flickers in his eyes
intent and direct when he speaks, I watch his lips
When he drives I love to watch his hands
white and smooth almost feminine,
almost american, I have to watch him.
G A# C
in his face age descends on youth, exaggeration on the truth
he caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgot
G A# C
and everything he seems to do reflects just another shade of blue
I saw him searching into you and ached a while
I watch his lips caress the glass,
his fingers stroke its stem and pass
to lift a cigarette at last, he dries his eyes
from a shadow by the stair
I watch as he weeps unaware
that I'm in awe of his despair, but I am there