Dreams are made winding through my head
Voices of the living, visions of the dead
I can see their faces and feel their touch
But my logic never can admit to such
In my mind, there's a constant memory
Of something that used to happen, something that used to be
Broken and falling, it lies in disrepair
With only a memorial to what used to lie there
A wanting of the past that I can't retrieve
But he can no longer hear my silent needs
So I walk through the dark no longer with light
Because he is with another into the night
He spends all his time with her and doesn't see
I'm missing all the time that used to belong to me
I spend my time now waiting for him to come home
Sitting, waiting, watching the phone
Maybe when I'm gone, maybe he'll see how
And then perhaps we'll see who's sorry now


Penned by my hand on the 1st of Lupar, in the year 293 AF.