on the wall hung a clock melting in the day's ire running toward the ground, it ran fast sometimes and occasionally mind numbingly sluggish
in the washbasin the rags i wore soaked in a soapy stillwater waiting for the wash that these tired hands must do
these blemished hands how they hurt strained from work like the oil stains on his shirt they are worn they are torn and are without comforting though his resolve is strong his will is weak from the havoc wreaked from a life of low pay struggling to live week to week knowing you deserve better
I always write about love and think I'm into it And think of its twist and turn, It wasn't that easy to love and To be loved. Each day we're swooning by The comfort of the Sun, I could not remember the last time The light had left me; No one would ever take a glance on their dark times.
I know, I am complete-- living on a guarantee that The stars will hold on into the night, Each night where you will hear the Swan's lullaby And in morning, you will embrace The thoughts of last night's catastrophe.