She sits there,
Waiting, on the bench
For him to apologize,
As her tears stain the keys.

The keys tell her story;
The keys tell her life.
All of the heartbreak that she's felt,
And the crap she's gone through;
It doesn't matter
Once the piano is in her line of sight.

She waits, a day or two,
And sits, and writes,
And moans and cries,
But her wish is never granted.

He will never apologize
For what he's done.
It's a game, to him,
It's all for fun.

She doesn't know if she can cry much longer,
But she's running out of material.
Her songs are the same,
Over and over and over again.

He's gone,
And she's there.
The Musician writes
To get rid of the pain,
And to get out of the game.