Spring is in the air.
And my heart is aching for love.
No more weeping sounds like the mourning dove.
My bones are growing weak, and I know I’m not enough.
Who could love a soul as damaged as the one I carry?
But everything is more or less arbitrary.
Most of the time I find myself feeling numb.
No longer to the knife I will succumb.
I have my eyes set on leaving this place.
Maybe then you’ll find me with a smile on my face.
So as I search for someone to help me pass the time.
I’ll try my best to brush the dust from my clothes as I do my best to shine.