Hollow are my eyes
on cold October mornings
bare and waiting to collapse
at the slightest of provocations

Hollow grows my heart
in the dead of winters night
withered and longing for life
to be poured into it once again

But no matter how hollow or bare or tattered
whether the sun has risen or the moon has sprung
as long as there's blood left in my veins, I know
he'll always be there to make me feel whole