[PAUSE.
LONG DRAWN OUT’]
I had
a book when I was a boy: it was called Killing A Loved One
Because Of Love. It was about a twenty-plus weakling…
who got so jealous he killed the woman he loved when the woman
dated some other man. He was in love. Hopeless, Hm. He was
in love. His heart was where the leaves blew and fell: HER,
SHE, WOMAN. I read that book so many times; I’d think,
only four more pages till he butchers the girl and goes to
the gallows. Poor man. How that shit HEAD girl used him. The
other braves in the book they told him, ‘Ey, you’re
a man, aren’t you? A two-fister, hard-cocker. ADAM.
Tell her that, stamp that inside that shitbag head of hers
while you pin her down in bed BENEATH you, and go mad like
you’re a beast and drill your charges into her and she
is crying and begging and pleading and she is weaker than
ever while your energies and your charges and your pride reign
supreme. She cries. The fire rages. And she cries. She submits
– and she cries. SHE CRIES. Man, oh man, there is a
power thing in you that makes you a man. You’re - the
man. And that’s what it’s going to be. Because
she is nothing less than a WOMAN! WIFE OF MAN. WOMAN’
But he made all the mistakes he could have, crawling out there
single – handed, strangling that girl and weeping all
night long over that cold body – all because he was
in love and he was jealous.
Hm, sad.
[Marches
downstage laughing sadly and lightly]
Guess I might once have dreamt I was that poor loverman in
that book called Killing A Loved One Because of Love.
There
is a pause, A chord strikes out from a box guitar. Lingers.
How do you do, you poor people? Friends of mine. [with an
attitude] I said how do you do? Before you play it dumb with
me, before, my insides burn so red till you see smoke jutting
out of every orifice in this twisted body of mine, before
I attempt to hold in madness in a vain attempt to trap in
fury, before I get a grip of myself, before fire flood forth
over control, before I let go and yell and scream and smash
my fist through a wall, DON’T PLAY IT DUMB WITH ME!
Because you know that I’m sensitive. Now. Slowly, friends:
How. Do. You. Do? [Once the audience responds correctly] Well,
all right now. Feel all right now. The name is Tandawuoya
– roughly translated to mean HARD Blow. And this here
with me is a thing called body – my body. All the way
from my head, as you see that I’m not bald, meaning
that I’m neither old nor too youth. Well, down over
this gormless, pathetic face of mien, and these fisherman’s
arms of mine, and my tight twisted chest, and you get the
legs between them hang two live balls and a long black fellow
who likes to stay lean and cool sometimes according to moods.
When the moods rise, he rises, too, slowly and steadily until
he is red and bolt hard. He loves to charge, you know. He
LOVES to PLUG AND BURROW; He is actually the fellow who is
responsible for my manhood. All that and BLOOD made me be
me. Now, I’m not going to say any funny words tonight,
so you’re not going to giggle or snigger, or even guffaw.
You are going to watch me. And listen.
[Presenting
himself ceremoniously]
One: I’m
the risk-taker. Two: I’m the heart-breaker, three I’m
the master of emotion, And four: I’m the maker of style,
like art; life; high society living – with style and
profile. Four stories I’m going to tell, to perform,
to celebrate the laughing kind of learning kind of loving
kind of caressing kind of speaking kind of caring kind of
enjoying kind of hurting kind of PAIN that comes from me:
a higher vertebrate. Loving. Before God and Man, a task endowed
with rules, Granted. Before man and woman, love and happiness.
So feel all right now. And groom me. GROOM ME. Just feel all
right, lady, AND GROOM ME. GROOM ME! He breaks into loud laughter.
[A
door slams off stage. He stops laughing, broods]
These
days I love to boast about being a man and living my life
a lone. I love my life alone. No dumb woman to treat me like
a puppet on a string. I feel so good. So peaceful. I do my
thing so right. I don’t have a job, but I don’t
have to worry that I’m losing some kinky woman because
I cannot provide enough. Stupid game. I don’t have to
worry about all the snags and shortcoming in my life because
right now I’m the captain of my ship my mind remains
so sober. I belong to myself and, ho-ho-ho, what a happy feeling.
Are you feeling all right? I AM. That is why I boast. That
is why we are making this play here tonight. I don’t
have a woman and I don’t have a cry. She can walk out
on me one hundred and one times and I’ll let her go
with all the regrets a fellow wiping dogshit off his favourite
shoes. I don’t care - SHE CAN GO AND GO. I’ve
overcome the stupid business. Woman don’t have any sense,
I’m continually flabbergasted. You pine so hard to keep
a relationship steady and she takes you for granted. Bullshit,
I’ve kicked mine and I DON’T WANT NO MORE STUPID
WOMEN BUSINESS. She wants to own you she strings you up and
go-damg your life until you’re a shell of a man. Wasted,
then, she has no more to take with you. WHO THE HELL ARE THEY?!
ALL WOMEN USE MEN! AND I REBEL? [He
sucks his breath with disgust]
Every
man, like every naughty boy has a dream in him about him-self
and some wee dream girl loving him so freely the way he wants.
Loving him, cuddling him, scolding him and purring softly
by his side, and he does a moon-walk with pride, you know,
Not because he owns a big house or some prestigious car or
what. HE IS THE PROUD OWNER of this jelly-soft girl. He loves
to tumble around with fashion and passion, boasting around,
you know. Dishing out this proud talk in such matter-of-fact
tone, like…’that girl will do every thing FOR
ME. Even kneel down and plead and plead and PLEAD. Man, SHE
SACRIFICES HER LIFE FOR ME. Because she dreads to lose me.
Fear. It eats her living daylight if she only thinks that
she is going to lose HER ONLY MAN, ‘HM, a common case.
‘Ey, have you heard that common stereotype about what
ratio of, I-don’t-know, how many ladies to one man?
Quite common. Many. Many. Many. How many in this wide world?
How many? What? How many? Many. Yeah. Many. Very many.
[Now his speech is breathless, sometimes
ironic, sometimes savage]
This thing
called love. Itself. It’s arrestibility, it’s
irresistibility. It’s magic. It’s charm, it’s
POWER. It’s chemistry. And it’s substitution.
All the songs song about it. It’s beauty, and it’s
destructive nature. The surrogate attachments in its elements….
Doomed to brief duration. Resulting, as always, in broken
hearts. No matter how hard you hold it just dies… leaving
you to battle with realities. Or it just pries itself off.
You can’t make it last…… You must NOT TRY
to make it last, Why? WHY?! Why must you cling to a person…
isn’t it necessary to live your life alone and just
do your thing? Yes. Stupid game… is all it is –
this thing called love. Someone loves too much and demands
too much, clings too much to emotion that she cannot concentrate
on anything else but HIM. In every ten minutes she must think
of him. How many ten minutes make a day? And she’s going
to keep thinking about him – she’s taking her
breakfast, she’s walking, she’s inside a matatu,
she sits in office to work. Over lunch. All afternoon long.
She going to bed. She has thought about him seven-hundred-and-thirty-two
times! Repeat - seven-hundred-and-thirty-two times! Isn’t
that madness. Sometimes he strays out of line and plants a
kiss on some other cheek you know the rest of the story: she
gets so greatly troubled with concern, like …. ‘Please
darling, you can’t leave me, can you? We need each other.
We’re so happy together, aren’t we?’ And
the truth is that they are not happy. One couple who loves
more that the other reckong – with DESPERATION –
like, ‘ I cannot live my life alone. I need you. I need
you’ not knowing that she is pouring tons of her weakness,
and the other one who is so needed is going to take full advantage
and use you to the bone. Oh, mercy, Lord. I’m not preaching
here tonight, but please tie this up for me please: why does
always have to be this way? That in this love business somebody
actually loves more than the other. And why for crying out
loud does it always have to be that it is always this one
who loves more than the other that gets grief of being dumped
while the lucky bastard who should have, in all fairness,
reciprocated this love, goes away scot-free – moves
on to another relationship. Now, let me say this slowly: the
one so loved and needed is too proud now. He has got her where
he wants her. And so now he’s got no more energy to
waste. Before long the poor girl can smell a whiff of contempt
and hate in his cavalry pride, but; maybe it’s too late.
Why. Naturally she is upto her ears in the thick of love.
He will turn about, rallying some hard gears, resisting some
of her demands and criticizing her very often. Care lost to
gruff. She pines, he flouts, she pines, he flouts, Eventually
in the wake of longing to be loved you stop to ponder: does
this person, who is supposed to be my best half, love me dearly
form the heart? I want, he assumes, I need he says assumes,
I ask he rejects, I demand he shouts and threatens, I love,
he despises. He hates me. It is apparent. I can’t take
it. Why must things work so negatively in life. I’m
just a poor young girl. I love. I want to be loved in return.
Rationally. She is hit so hard in the face she is out of her
mind, and the next morning she is crying hysterically before
a nonchalant nodding psychiatrist or a counseller or one of
those idiot fellows who have nothing better to do but make
money listening to other peoples problems in the business,
pouring out her virgin heart.
[ECHO
rings out in a strangulated cry, at a distance]
TANDAWUOYA – where are you?
[He
appears dimly lighted. He listens. He then sits down]
Nobody
called my name. I have reached a stage where I can’t
think of any more appropriate stories. So I just sit here
for a few moments. I’m very peaceful. I have my books,
my cat and my radio. (Theatrically) I am exploring the peaceful
nature of man. I shake my head, I sniff and I dry my eyes.
I take a deep breath. Some memories seep slowly into my cool.
I sit back, swirl. Bad. What do I do now? I shake my old skull.
[ Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant
voice from above and streaming in all directions]
‘You’re an exasperating man, Tandawuoya. Don’t
you get any thrill for life… living your life alone?
Don’t you miss your women? I want to keep my handout.
[Defensively]
I’m strong enough. I want to deny myself . . . to Resist.
To give myself more attention.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
‘Ha, so you want to deny yourself?
Self-denial
is sacrifice. A capability to restrain and refrain and dissipate
those great energies some people waste on women build yourself
up, spiritually. I don’t like to defend my self like
this, but then I’m not modest. I have my life to live
and so I don’t want anybody to mess with me, just like
a do not interfere with anybody. I want to keep my situation
the way it is.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“I know you need a girl; the truth of the matter is
that you are bitter. Frustrated, dismayed, depressed, you
miss something and you long for it. That’s why you’re
so bitter. But why, Tandawuoya? Why must you be so damn tough
on yourself. Don’t you need to know who the catshit
you are? Don’t you need something else besides sitting
around in this dump sometimes going crazy with fury, other
times feeling sorry for yourself, humbling yourself, disciplining
yourself, reading and thinking about madness as you want yourself.
Oh, mama man, you’re an artist, you’re a self-damning
piss artist at the moment, but you’re still an intelligent
man. You could be out-going again, you could stop living for
yourself, you cowardly freak, THERE is SOMEBODY OUT THERE
WHO IS DYING FOR YOUR LOVING HEART. You could be taking a
part, That’s what you should be doing; TAKING PART,
showing some of those desperate, love-starve ladies how it’s
done… what? What is it? I say something funny? What?'
Ah, bejeza,
you kwang kwang maker of hope. Are you in charge of what.
You can say all the APESHIT ideas you ganner up your bandela
head. But I’m not wasting my time on no more down pressing
woman. No more giving in to no more bolingo. No woman, no
cry. She desires and she smiles and she is grateful and she
is loving until she has you where she wants you. Then she
changes. That one made me doubt her once, and since I am a
principled man I PUT THE KIBOSH IN. she made me doubt her
once. There is nothing she is going to do to cast that doubt
out of my mind. No woman, no cry.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“Bob Marley. I taught you that. Now you, lets take a
step further. What about sex.”
What
about sex?
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“Sexual intercourse is an advantage. It completes the
circle for a healthy mind.”
You’re
a self-damning freak. Everything is in the mind. You have
the WILLPOWER to say no to sex and abstain. And you will go
neither mad nor crazy for lack of it.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“You NEED sex.”
Hm. For
the weak-minded. I’ve heard that jargon too. That those
who have regular sex are healthier, happier and are likely
to live longer. And that marriage adds more comfort and emotional
security. Now; two things – one, we, all of us, will
die sooner or later, two; do not believe everything you read.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“It’s based on research and . . ‘
Aarg.
Research. What basis did they use? What criteria did they
use to claim that sexual intercourse brings happiness yet
sexual intercourse is a physical indulgence like drinking
beer or listening to your favourite music or watching your
favourite football team winning. All bring happiness don’t
they?
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“It’s libido, man”
Libido
can dispense itself in any extreme physical activity in the
absence of sex.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
“Like what?”
Like
laughing hard the African way or doing something you passionately
want to do and die for.
Like Jesus
Christ did.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
‘Tandawuoya. You’re crazy. How about I remind
you that you are twenty-five years old….
Twenty-six;
you forgot my birthday again.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
‘Oh, well … excuse me. ‘Ey, come on, Tandawuoya;
you’re still a young man; you going to vegetate in this
hole as the best years of your youth escape? Turning bitter
thoughts inside your old skull. Bejeeza, ajowa, forget about
the pain that woman caused you; don’t redress your past
with bitterness for I care...'
…..You
care? You want me to go out and fish around for a woman and
all that funky jazz; suppose you hear that it’s happened
that I scrap the earth with AIDS?
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
‘Wo wo wo wo . . . , No. No. Don’t wind me down,
don’t wipe off. Just don’t burp me. I’d
give my life to you than nobody else, Tandawuoya. I’m
not saying that I mean disaster for you, but I’d rather
you just… share. Learn to share, even if you . . . hate
life so much, but I’d rather you just… share.
Learn to share, even if you don’t do any silly thing
like fornication. I don’t like to see unhappiness, Tandwuoya.
Life is so short, why should you want waste it, Tandawuoya.
I don’t like to see people just throwing away what they’ve
got. But you could if you want to; you’ve got the choice.
You’re just….. I don’t know; full of yourself,
too resentful, too sorry for yourself’
Please
leave me alone you sinker. YOU STINKER I just want to sit
in this cubicle, silent, hearing nothing, until your words
bring me back. I’m quite sure I’m sure. But I’m
uncertain, women are bad enough.
[
Guardian angel, coming like a pleasant voice from above and
streaming in all directions]
‘No! NO! NOOO---OOHHHH!!! You can't shut me out of your
mind because I’m right here inside your head! WHAT ARE
YOU DOING! DON'T CHANGE YOUR THOUGHTS! I'm your precious guardian
angel and you need me here to warn you. You are in danger
and you need me. Don’t shift your mind away! Don’t
do it! DON’T DO IT! DON’T . . . . (Fadeout)
[ECHO
some distance, a little clearer now, voice of a woman, calls]
I’m looking for you.
[He
shots, panic-stricken]
Stop tormenting me woman
[He
has moved upstage]
I’m
tying give you up. For Good, I meant it! I feel sick, hurt,
puzzled. I don’t know why I fell in love. I thought
I was lucky to have you. I didn’t know you too well
perhaps.
[Lights
come up brighter. Soft music plays. He paces quite soberly]
Now the
dice has fallen apart in disarray. I’m greatly disturbed,
alarmed, my sense of objectivetiy rudely shattered. These
days I’m quick to lose my temper. I say to myself; oh,
but our old days with Luzia were so lovely? Or “ Anyway
it’s not right that I had to seduce another man’s
girl friend and pluck her from him? Or ‘I’m determined
to hold’, or, ‘what the hell, she can go, I don’t
care: my worst fear was that I was being taken for a ride.
I feel so betrayed. Perhaps you’ll do your best to cast
this doubt out of my mind. I do not think that I have ever
wronged you in any deliberate way, have I? I’ve always
tried to be a man… to be a good man, to say the best.
In my book, when you love somebody you do not treat them like
puppets on strings and give them doubts. You GIVE LOVE AND
YOU MAKE IT SHOW. You don’t stall them so hard that
you shock them with no apparent reason other change or shift
in moods. You don’t make them miserable. You make it
you task to give them the best. Come to think of it, I’m
such high-bred young gent and I know what is good enough for
me. The only SNUG in my life is that I do not have a job.
You do not know of the many instances I’ve looked into
the future with you and cherished a good home and our two
kinds. Reason? I love you. I’m an artist. I’m
romantic. I’m a fighter. I’m a lover. I’m
a storm-child. I’m sensitive. I’m lovable. I’m
independent. But above all I’m a hard worker. So if
I say that I know what I want I know WHAT I MEAN. I wanted
you and I wanted us to take a walk hand in hand. For no reason
you stopped on the way because you were half hearted. You
got ashamed of me and brought into you some mystery. So I’m
going on alone. I’m going on, feeling gnawed. Thinking
about my nice little woman, the only one that I ever loved.
But if this be love, then I’m never going to fall in
love again. May be I didn’t know how best to handle
you. How best to use you to get some honey out of you. But
I’ll assert that I’m not that greedy. I have my
limitations. When I want to love you I want to protect you
all the best I can. True, I wanted to plan my life and that
of my girlfriend, and I wanted to start early because I assumed
then that I’d at last gotten myself a mature woman who
was mooch enough to offer to go it with me. I lay my strategies
and planned and planned. I wanted my woman to be protected
physically, emotionally and economically because now I was
the one in the reigns. I was too serious… may be I cared
too much. You see, it seems tome that girls, these days, would
rather refer to be taken for rides than to have a truly caring
gent who offers all his C.V.S. and blue-prints. Changed standards?
Maybe. I’m continually flabbergasted.
The bottom
line, doll, is that I feel that I cannot sustain a serious
meaningful with someone I’m meant to love. Even if I’m
going to meet another one that well knocks me off my feet
the way you did, I’m going to seal off my mind, harden
my heart and let the lovebug fade. Soon come love fades and
my life goes back to an even keel. I feel good. I’m
so fine and I like my life alone. I feel so rights. Perhaps
what I’ve learnt is that being in love alone cannot
suffice for a young couple because DREAMS DIE FAST. I tried
to make out a serious relationship – so much that you
cannot possibly blame me. I remain the same romantic me with
my colourful, distant future dreams. I sometimes miss your
company, but do not think I’m just being diffident so
much that you try your best to encourage me. You’ve
unwillingly put me off. Surely, woman, even if you are the
most beautiful girl in Nairobi, you won’t be able to
see how I can commit myself in my present state. But between
you and me and this cubicle I don’t fancy the way you
finally let it break off so irresponsibly.
[He
gestures about, leans his back against the closed door]
You….
Woman…. I want to say… that I’ve discovered
very disturbing personality flaws in you.
[He
is now speaking quietly in his thoughts]
One is
your non-reasonable display of violent temper. I’ve
also notice hints of selfishness. Actually I noticed this
from the very first time I set my eyes on you. That you’re
selfish, immature. Moody or stubborn make it very difficult
for me to communicate. But that’s not it: I’ve
overlooked or tried to justify such short comings. You tell
me: haven’t I been determined to make the relationship
work at all costs? Why? Because I loved you. But can love
alone suffice for a young couple when the only loved one of
the couple is so bent on absolute unfairness? Look at us:
we’re two different people – I’m too high
and mighty for you. We don’t share most thoughts: I’m
quite a colourfull person and you’re so gray. We don’t
share the same world view either. Yet I’ve had to tolerate
you. Because I loved you. Oh yes, I was too fine. It is you
who engaged me into seducing you, I the first place. You just
forced yourself into my life. Now I’ve taken a hard
look at you and I want us to just break up and separate FOR
GOOD. I mean it. This is really fine for both of us. Take
it gratefully and smile, girl. I’m still weighed down
on your line but I believe I’m acting very responsibly
in calling a stop. I’m acting very wisely; I’m
saving both of us from more heartaches in the future. You
see, there is every evidence that you will never be a submissive
and a capable lover in the future. I’m a doormat you
wiped your shoes on aren’t I? But I like my life a lone.
It’s quite healthy and quite inspiring – doing
your own thing. I’d like to repeat that I tried. I was
a self-sacrificing lover, and I could have made you into a
queen. But, baby, No. Let me go on from here alone. Darkness
is looming, and I want to beat it.
[ECHO slightly closer now]
I’m finding you, darling. Finding you.
[He
cower around, pushes chair to extreme end of stage, looks
undecidedly around]
MAD-DNESS!
I say No!
Too LATE
TOO LATE FOR HOPE! TOO LATE FOR LOVE! TOO LATE TO HOPE FOR
LOVE! TOO LATE NOW FOR EVERY THING! LET IT REST WHAT’S
HAPPENING TO ME?
I WANT TO RESIST. I’M NO FOOL, NOT COOL, I’M STRONG.
I’M NOT A COWARD EITHER!
[He
drops his knees, clamps his hands into fists, pounds the floor
savagely]
ABRUPT
SILENCE
[Then
vaguely and sadly, he reflects without gesture]
It’s
been a hot and sticky muggy day, followed by a hot and sticky
muggy evening. I’m sweating. I feel thirsty and ……..
and …… terrible. This headache is so intense.
WOMAN. Explosion. I’ve been excited and frightened.
It all seems unreal. Well, I was still young.
How do
you work out when you were most happy? I don’t know
myself but, however you measure it, I was happy then. It was
a more relaxed, fulfilled happiness than that I’d felt
ever before. I still don’t know how much – it
was due to YOU.
My first real lover; first proper (improper) relationship.
This beauty with her dancer’s body and her wild tempers
and her roughhouse, rowdy, roguish sexuality; holy shit, the
trapeze artist could not have been more athletic, WHAT DID
I EXCITE IN HER? SHE MUST HAVE SEEN SOMETHING, AND SHE CANT’S
HAVE CARED FOR MY MONEY.
So what
was it that kept her with me, fairly faithful and unfairly
jealous for FIVE YEARS. I never did work it out. I asked her,
direct, often enough what she saw in me, but all she ever
did was frown so deeply. And keep mum.
THE BREATH-TAKING
NERVE OF THAT FLOORED ME.
[Cutting,
irritably]
Every time.
Fair enough, I thought, unbloody but bowed. A couple of times
she insulted in front of people. One time I beat her senseless
and she refused to see me for six moths. Agony. Yes, agony.
Shattered ego? Whatever. Pride? You name it. Maybe she just
didn’t like my big stupid face. At first….. At
First …….
[He
lays his head down. Pause. He rises painfully, moves about
the stage, ending at centre, with his back to audience]
At first…..
I was in charge, or is it ? No, she loved me for a while,
or said she did.
[He turns towards the audience]
But it was as a friend…. May be even as a pet. That
was the way I felt with her; like a big a stupid clumsy dog;
likeable and lovable, but too keen to please.
[Quietly]. That is how she engaged me, she admitted
later. I was drawn at heart but I remained outwardly resistant.
But she was so determined to make me lose my heart to her
that in the end she won. My heart was against it, and I never
really wanted to have an affair with her. I didn’t want
too much responsibility. I wanted to be LIKED NOT LOVED, love
with a person as dumb to real feelings and sharing a heart
as her was dangerous, I know. Love could cripple, could kills,
could confuse us so much that we might never be the same people
again. I knew all this. Right form the start. All this and
more.
[In
a murmur, ecstatically]
No, I don’t think I broke or stole her heart away; that
was safely under lock and key – somewhere deep inside
her, it had been stolen once before, and she’d had to
pay a lot – in exactly what currency of the heart, I
never did find to – to get it back, battered and torn.
The dumb girl had been swept off her feet before by a married
man – thus! So now her heart would never escape or be
stolen again. She was in control form the start. We lived
on terms. We fell in love and went to walk in town one weekend.
She did nothing but tell me great stories about the man she
was using me to forget. I knew it form the start that this
woman was using me to pour her grief – she was using
me to easen off her burden of broken heart. I knew that, and
made my decision there and then, that I was never going to
want anything form her. I was smart, you know. Her behaviour
seemed to me, then a sweet and endearing gesture. I kept my
high profile in my heart and became her man. But I didn’t
use her at all’ I knew and understood that she was frustrated
and she longed to be loved. Fate wouldn’t notice. Intense
and tasteless extravagance, would attract some terrible reckoning.
So I just tried to help her live through that trying times
care her love.
[He
regards himself with satisfaction]
Darling
kid;
I wanted to be your alter ego
To be your man. Your good man.
I wanted to be near you
To be your role model; to be our hero
To be your light in darkness
I wanted to guide you towards the right direction;
To hold you on bravely
To keep you from falling; to help you grow
And to cherish in that growth
So feel all right now
Because I only wanted to do good to you.
Nothing more nothing les
For
WHEN A MAN is in love he’s love.
