Lonesome swingset, where she once sat...
Trying to find where his head is at,
Looking over old picture books,
Photographs with her precious looks,
Push her higher, let her go...
Gone forever, a month or so,
Not a phone call, never a letter,
Mommy thinks that works out better.
Wind in the trees makes him cry some more,
Thinking over kites and the springtime's lore,
Wondering what his heart is for,
He's sure she's forgotten his name...
And he could try with all his might,
Third or fourth time losing the fight,
Cling to memories, follow the light,
But really, it's all the same...
Lonely grass, as it holds his dreams,
Rolls in the memories or what used to be,
Falling into silent death,
Falling asleep to the sound of her breath...
He can still hear it loud and clear,
Feel her soul so very near,
But there's never a phone call, and never a letter,
And he thought that God should know him better. |
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