The Tears, they drop unto the floor,
streams of sorrow, a body that's sore.
A heart torn out, on a table it sits,
a body now void, its warmth I miss.
A knife is pulled from the kitchen drawer,
we ponder if it should close no more.
A mind thinks on to another shore,
of madness and loss, of hurting no more.
Signs of sorrow life cannot be faced,
love is fleeting and endless chase.
To live without love,
to love and not live.
To die without hope,
and no hope in the death.
To see without light,
yet no light for to see.
To close the door
and weep no more.
Our mind thinks on to another shore,
to lie in gentle breezes. |
