Rolling myself into dust.

I look at my hands, they look like my hands.

I look at my feet, they look like my feet.

Where do you come in? Through the front door? I'm in it again. I heard the back door lock, and checked it too. The slide door slides while I wish for you at my side.

Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder. When it seems to get cold, it starts getting warmer.

I love to keep you and love to be kept by those who wish their tears will be dried while their wept. But weep we may when the rain comes in and there seems no time for play or fun again.
So sad I can be when it is I who practices to live in this mind. Draining a well, that never runs dry.

So I learn to sing you a song when you frown, because I miss you so dearly when you're not around.

So I sit here and try to write you a loving song. So someday we may learn we can truly get along.