If in the morning of your soul, a brush of tenderly imagined lips: It's only love and gone in the way of everything.

If in the midnight dregs of a cocktail glass a teardrop falls: It's only love and gone in the way of everything.

If in the singing twilight of the dawn you give your heart unwanted: It's only love and gone in the way of everything.

Then what in the hours of your life is love? It's here, then gone. But gives it's name to everything.