I can't get down to the bone
I can't get to the marrow
I live on the surface now
or I'd drowned in the sorrow

You were never really here
Just a phantom of my thighs
And I was never really wrong
'Cause you were never really right

And the stars they burn bright
Through little holes in the sky
And the distance is as endless
As the beauty of your eyes

But patience is a virtue
That you never really learned
And its winter here forever
Until your love returns

by James H. Webb