remember that rhyme?
the one about time?
with the mouse, and the house,
and the tick-tock of the clock?
hickory, dickory dock,
i'm like a mouse,
stuck in a clock.
the time it ticks,
the time it tocks,
and you and i,
we stick,
and talk.
and you tell me about your life,
and how she's hurt you so,
and i sit here and wonder,
if you even know.
you hurt me the same,
in case it doesn't show.
i felt for you.
love.
and hope.
and i held on,
even at the end of my rope.
until my hands were burned,
and my arms were sore,
and i couldn't hold on,
to nothing anymore.
and even then i held, still,
fought against my body,
and my brains will,
because my heart,
would simply ****,
to feel your touch,
to know that thrill.
but eventually time,
it ripped you away,
i could not hold on,
i could not stay,
what could be done was done,
what i could, i did say.
and still you pulled that rope away.
i thought you were my life line,
that one day,
you might be mine.
but you aren't,
and you weren't,
and you never will,
because even though it hurts,
you love her still.
time heals all wounds,
or at least thats what i'm told,
and in the winter nights,
when your cold heart keeps you cold,
i hope you know that i could have been yours,
to have and to hold,
only if i would have told,
if only i could have been so bold.
hickory, dickory, dock.
the mouse ran up the clock,
the clock struck "done",
the mouse ran down,
hickory,
dickory,
dock.

i have this vision in my head,
it comes each night when i lay in bed.
i lay in the dark, as quiet as can be,
and listen to the wind as it whispers through the trees.
the wind it whispers, things you never said,
as i pull back my blankets, and sneak out of my bed.
i tiptoe down the stairs, across  the old wood floor,
then i pass right by the kitchen, and slip out my back porch door.
i walk out into the moonlight, as the wind blows back my hair,
and for a second i can hear your voice, it's almost like you're there.
for me it's so hard to admit, that the you i knew is gone,
sometimes i try to close my eyes, and pretend that nothing's wrong.
my feet come to the cold concrete,
to the place where the grass and sidewalk meet.
i stare into the cold dark night,
and the moon gives off a silver light.
from there i'm stuck in memories,
and the wind still whispers in the trees.
across my skin it sends a chill, i hear 'i love you kid, and always will'.
but i know the words come from the sky,
a sick illusion from my aching mind.
the match it strikes, the fire burns,
with each inhale, my stomach turns.
my insides twist, as i start to cry,
the tears fall slowly from my tired eyes.
you see,
this cigarette is like you now,
in so many different ways,
it knows the feeling of my lips,
*but the smoke, it never stays.