TENDER TOUCHES ON MY BROW
©Trev Teasdel Coventry March 1968
Refrain
I always will allow, tender touches on my brow
and the plaintive cry of an elusive butterfly,
feet tangled in my tie.
And if into the country we elude
To find that we are being perused
by ardent fans with caravans
motorbikes and blue sedans.
And now I seek the solitude
sacrificed with my vicissitude
sought after like a fugitive
for the leisure they insist I give.
Brushes on the cheek
My baby makes me weak.
Relaxing on the grass
what more can anyone ask.
They consult my intellect
My profile they inspect
I wonder what they expect
from a man that’s so select.
And when at last they dissipate
And I’m feeling kinda great
The scene is so serene
alone with my beauty queen.
The trees they seem to elongate
The clouds that seem to indicate
That love is really at my gate
all my resistance I must eliminate.