Of all the stories that have ever been written,
I've been assailed right off the page.
Winter fell across the floor in silence,
I just stopped and wondered why.
Well, it's a cold and strange sad situation,
off the shore, tossed by the waves.
My every other word misunderstood,
why I'd ever speak out loud again?
Clinging on so tight, I bled my hands,
I draw the shades and hang my head and run.
All those simple things, essential to me,
you cast aside to go and be alone.
You can't see the way I grieve,
love's the air I need to breathe.
I hope you understand,
just need to find myself again.
I see no choice but leaving,
so tired of flying alone.
On the battlefield,
you were never there beside me.
Who will I be if I recover from this?
I'm not the enemy,
there's so much good inside me.
The real “you” left and never came back home.
Round and round, oh,
there is a rhythm where two hearts should meet:
a sense of comfort and a point of common ground.
To have and then to hold, and then to cry,
and then to break upon the waves.
You see me through dark eyes
that color me wrong.
Immersed inside a world
where charity dies.
And what of all that talk
of how two become one,
and I hope you understand,
just need to find some grace again.
There seems to be no reason,
rejected off and away.
On the battlefield,
you were never there beside me.
Who will I be should I recover from this?
There are no enemies,
just death of love inside me.
The bitter truth of this has come back home.
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