November Nights Gram Parsons

This thing's, uh, sort of a Bachian thing
It's really—, you have to, have to really listen to the phrasing of it because it's really wild

You say that you're restless
You say that you know me too well
You've seen all my best
And you've heard all the stories I tell
You think you've been taken for granted, you're probably right

Still I remember a November night
When the dawn on your doorway shone white with frost
And the soft love that always began with the touch of your hand
And recall the mornings that tossed your hair in the wind

Time's made it meaningless, I'm insecure, you can tell
But why am I leaving unless time had only meant well?
There's nothing left now to excite you, no reason to try

Still I remember a candlelit sky
And the summer surrounding the ground where you and I lay
And though we were always alone with our secrets known
We both were aware and afraid our closeness might end

My love's like a dancer, she weaves through the danger complete
Her well rehearsed answers with rational reasons for feet
And if it decreases or ceases to always seem right