I have been both lover and beloved, unrequited   dispassionate and quiet around you.      And when I am old, when the skin under my eyes   stretches to wrap around the things I've seen,   what will it mean that I didn't take a chance on you?   Didn't get lost in a glance from you?   This fragile balance, this delicate palace where one left   puts two people on two different paths.   But if I hold out my hands to you   it doesn't make it right, it doesn't make it right.      I want more for my life than my name in lights,   my name in lights!      I've read books and understood them,   understood the looks you gave me   when I sent you a letter from Bennington   telling you that I couldn't leave his grave without a poem of my own   and all I wrote about was having you and not having you.      I want more for my life than my name in lights!