Give me something to write,
Send me inspiration.
For words seem lost,
No provocation.
We sit here, most of us,
Waiting and watching.
Until we turn to dust,
Who is it that hears us.
I am here and you sit there,
No one does truly care.
Where do you think the time does go,
Truly it is buried in our sorrow.
Love is never fair no matter,
The passion makes its strong.
But it always stirs somewhere,
The mist clears and comes back again,
So where does it end.
