Donald and Lydia

Small town, bright lights, Saturday night
 Pinballs and pool halls flashing their lights
 Making change behind the counter in a penny arcade
 Sat the fat girl daughter of Virginia and Ray
 Lydia
 Lydia hid her thoughts like a cat
 Behind her small eyes sunk deep in her fat
 She read romance magazines up in her room
 It felt just like Sunday on Saturday afternoon
 But dreaming just comes natural
 Like the first breath from a baby
 Like sunshine feeding daisies
 Like the love hidden deep in your heart
 Bunk beds, shaved heads, Saturday night
 A warehouse of strangers with sixty watt lights
 Staring through the ceiling, just wanting to be
 Lay one of too many, a young PFC
 Donald
 There were spaces between Donald and whatever he said
 Strangers had forced him to live in his head
 He envisioned the details of romantic scenes
 After midnight in the stillness of the barracks latrine
 But dreaming just comes natural
 Like the first breath from a baby
 Like sunshine feeding daisies
 Like the love hidden deep in your heart
 Hot love, cold love, no love at all
 A portrait of guilt is hung on the wall
 Nothing is wrong, nothing is right
 Donald and Lydia made love that night
 Love
 They made love in the mountains, they made love in the streams
 They made love in the valleys, they made love in their dreams
 But when they were finished, there was nothing to say
 'Cause mostly they made love from ten miles away
 But dreaming just comes natural
 Like the first breath from a baby
 Like sunshine feeding daisies
 Like the love hidden deep in your heart