Stayin up again, until its three a.m,
trying to explain to my brain,
that love isn't sane.
Who's going to be my friend
in the end,
truly will it depend,
on who I gave my last cent to,
who I helped break through,
to the knowledge of you know who.

It always seems that when I think this through,
my mind goes running back to you.
How the slam of the door,
created a gust like ne'er before,
leaving the embers of our love,
strewn across the floor.
I don't know about you,
but what I felt was true,
if not from above,
then whence came this love.

For years I tried to shove it away,
the pain causing me to say,
hurtful things that would clip your wings.
Those embers still smoulder in my heart,
still hot after all this time apart;
for even your pain was art.

So I ask you this,
oh fair and demure miss,
if we may journey together again in bliss;
as it was with our first kiss.