He sits, watches the fire, Cigarette in hand
She lies crying on her bed, The other side of town
The evil villian called pride assists them in their distance
Good things gone bad
Taking his feet, He makes his way to the window
As she stares at the phone with anticipation
From the window he watches as the snow continues to fall
And the phone screams its silence in her ears
A smile crosses his face as he thinks of summer breezes
And the childish giggles escaping from the small frame of his love
Stealing a glance at his photograph she can not suppress her smile
His eyes always danced with their boyish mischief
Oh what a thief of her heart
Turning he walks across the carpeted room
Pausing at the phone, Hand extends, Fingers touching cool plastic
Mind races, Heart beats faster, I'm sorry he whispers to himself
Then he turns away
Reaching up, Small hands turn out the light above the bed
Pulling the covers to her chin, She begins to cry again
What becomes of the broken hearts?
In the lonely room.
Post je objavljen 27.10.2004. u 01:57 sati.