The Trophies Of My Lovers Gone

by Clive James and Pete Atkin

The turns of speech that I can't quite erase from how I talk
The songs that I might sometimes hum a phrase from when I walk
And all the times I can't afford to let my thoughts run on
These are the trophies of my lovers gone

I've heard of birds that pick up beads and trinkets for a nest
And people who keep souvenirs and think it's for the best
But why should I who never doubted that the dead live on
Live with the trophies of my lovers gone

The gifts they give you you can sell
You can always burn the letters, pawn the rings
But still you'll change in the little things
That anyone with half an eye can tell

I know it's false to think that life depends on love alone
And falser still that it begins and ends on who you've known
I swear to God though that I don't know if my soul's my own
Or one of the trophies of my lovers gone