a log thrown on the fire, two profiles met as one, the igniting of desire in the air, but when there's just one profile, and yet desire grows, despite the fact there's no one else to care.
must romance be abandoned
as it's fanning it's own flame?
waiting to burst full-blown.
there's a special kind of bliss, not engendered with a kiss. surreptitiously indulged in less well known. for when one cannot make love with another, one can still make love alone.
there's a certain special magic to the touch of your own hand. and a special thrill knowing that you will for sure soon be feeling grand. and the tender swell of rapture, you don't have to try to postpone, that's what it's like when your Making Love Alone...
oh the sweet, sweet sound of your own breathing, as the sky turns pale pink to hot, and the special thrill knowing that you will not catch God only knows what. it's the kind of glove that fits hand in glove, and burst like a bud full blown. that's what it's like when you're Making Love Alone.
who can describe the special sweetness of knowing the speed that your going is right, and is there anything as thrilling as trying to keep the book open to page 24 all night.
how reassuring to know when it's finally time to go that you'll still be there when you leave, and is dawn is for breaking you hear yourself making a date for New Years Eve.
it's the kind of love that fits hand in glove, especially when the glove is your own! for the date when you can't see their faces, the one who knows all the best places, who'll never ask your sign on the phone, no no no signs, due the simple magic of making love, not taking, faking, mistaking love, the simple magic of Making Love Alone, save on cologne! that's what its like when you're Making Love Alone, oh, alone...
must romance be abandoned
as it's fanning it's own flame?
waiting to burst full-blown.
there's a special kind of bliss, not engendered with a kiss. surreptitiously indulged in less well known. for when one cannot make love with another, one can still make love alone.
there's a certain special magic to the touch of your own hand. and a special thrill knowing that you will for sure soon be feeling grand. and the tender swell of rapture, you don't have to try to postpone, that's what it's like when your Making Love Alone...
oh the sweet, sweet sound of your own breathing, as the sky turns pale pink to hot, and the special thrill knowing that you will not catch God only knows what. it's the kind of glove that fits hand in glove, and burst like a bud full blown. that's what it's like when you're Making Love Alone.
who can describe the special sweetness of knowing the speed that your going is right, and is there anything as thrilling as trying to keep the book open to page 24 all night.
how reassuring to know when it's finally time to go that you'll still be there when you leave, and is dawn is for breaking you hear yourself making a date for New Years Eve.
it's the kind of love that fits hand in glove, especially when the glove is your own! for the date when you can't see their faces, the one who knows all the best places, who'll never ask your sign on the phone, no no no signs, due the simple magic of making love, not taking, faking, mistaking love, the simple magic of Making Love Alone, save on cologne! that's what its like when you're Making Love Alone, oh, alone...