On Vit, On Aime

When I was young my friends were French

With one who, Frenchly, "wooed a wench"

Or two, or three, or four, or more

He kept them all in separate thrall

"How do you keep each love?" I asked

"How do you say all the things you need to say

For each new day's betrayal?"

He stopped and looked and smiled

With what I think is called a Gallic shrug

Though all my women friends insist

That it is better called a phallic shrug

So smug!

"On vit, on aime, on ment, on meurt"

My French was good enough to know just what he meant

I'd say it so

"We live, we love, we lie, we die"

There was no smile, no twinkle in his eye

We love, and lie

So don't ask why we do

I was, well, Gaulled

This isn't France! It isn't right!

I'll never dance that dance

Such cynicism can only be a sin

Then he touched my chin

"You'll learn, you'll see, you'll know, you'll cry"

He didn't need to say much more

For me to see eternity

"Savior, regarde, apprendre, pleurer"

I knew exactly what he meant to say

You'll learn, you'll cry

And won't ask why you do

But then with you I found a love

That finally filled my heart

A love sublime

But only kept alive when kept apart

Concealed with such dark art

And so today I hear him still

I know the words he said were cruel

But they were true; you know it, too

"On vit, on aime, on ment, on meurt"

And wiser now I don't ask why we do

We love and lie

And older now, I don't ask why we do