They thought he needed distance
Some sort of getaway
But the path of least resistance
Existed not on holiday

They thought he needed minutes
Perhaps hours, maybe months
But as further time diminished
Downward he seemed to plunge

They thought he needed novelty
If emotion he could sheathe
But he longed for constancy
Not more room to breathe

When she left, they tried their best to steer him—far, astray
Though all he ever really needed, was somebody to stay