She  swallow the sun, before the days begun,
keeping him in the dark, with her silly little lies.
He prays she finds love and he hopes that it's he.
He's scored  long enough,  he knows it's only in his head.

He watches from afar, while she's beside  him in  bed,
Pretty as a poem he read.
There, but uninvolved, someone is waiting round the bend-
This dream is just a page he read.

He's been here before, an old hand at goodbye,
years are moving on to a safe and cozy night:
where slide shows flicker on walls of unknown photo scrawls
and moments covered in dust,  
dead forgotten trust.

If only she belonged to a wasted life with him:
grounded, broken and free;
with few Hollywood lights hanging on her tree,
a sense of sanity.

She is held like a doll that can never love back,
plastic blue eyes keep him entrapped.
Compromising compassion compels him to her door-
He swears he's been here before...