He may be the face I can’t forget, a trace of pleasure or regret, may be my treasure or the price I have to pay. He may be the song that Summer sings, may be the chill that Autumn brings, may be a hundred different things within the measure of a day. He may be the beauty or the beast, may be the famine or the feast, may turn each day into a heaven or a hell. He may be the mirror of my dreams, a smile reflected in a stream. He may not be what he may seem inside his shell. He who always seems so happy in a crowd, whose eyes can be so private and so proud. No one’s allowed to see them when they cry. He may be the love that can not hope to last, may come to me from shadows of the past that I’ll remember till the day I die. He may be the reason I survive, the why and wherefore I’m alive, the one I’ll care for through the rough and ready years. Me, I’ll take his laughter and his tears and make them all my souvenirs. For where he goes I’ve got to be. The meaning of my life is he. He, he, he.