I must paraphrase the young white bluesman from Detroit - there is no True Love. But love does come around, it's ass way up in the air, and you'd be a fool to let that just walk by. And you do and you don't. The horrible thing is how we kill it. Better people than I have lost The Soul. And you do and you don't. You become cold and stoney. I have always looked for love. And I am loving more. I'm learning to love. The steps to you rise along a dying, violent sky and the city's all down.