The idea of Love,
a simple thing, a white dove...

Shall it be, a simple inflection,
something once mirrored, like your reflection...

Every written line has shadow,
every speach spoke sounds hollow...

Here my heart, rest your head,
the weariness of the eve, brings great dread...

It's bleeding,
in the simplest way of explaining...

Like a river flowing,
or the winds blowing...

With shaking hands I write,
Desperate and seeking, please, read my script...

You looked at me today,
such disdain in your eyes...

Today I stay in waiting.
There is no lady involved...