It was a ménage a trois,
One love locked in his head,
One locked in his arms,
And maybe in his bed.
He walked a crooked path
Between joy and despair
Sometimes uncertain
Which one was there.
In his confusion thinking
that both were the same,
Calling the living by
The other one's name.
Holding her tightly weeping
Tears of joy and relief
Most often mixed with
The tears of his grief.
She held him close never
Thinking of any blame
For when a loved one is a
Lover what's in a name.
It was a ménage a trois
And as far as she could see
For the length of their love
That's the way it would be.
