There are lines on the mirror
There are lines on my face
Of course I fucking notice
I'm not caught up in the race

Here I sit
broken hearted
missing you
who's now departed
n'er will i feel your touch agin
or engage in slave labour
​to keep you man

to whish to have
and not be taken
but to be taken
as you are taking
the way you wish to be taken

     are you worthy?
     are you stealth?
do you really mean what you say?
     or are you stringing me along
hand in hand
     we travel
     along a path
one moment
a few hours
     days
     years
good-bye
     tears
     pain
     separation anxiety
weeping, weeping
stitching, stitching
we mend our broken hearts
     or each others
     laughing
we find
     revealing more
     like young lovers
we rediscover why
     and insecurities
receiving, giving
     friendship slips
     between cracks
of aching
holding
crying
     again waiting
fighting
leaving
staying
loving
aging, aging, aging
     you're still hear I fear
     and where are we know
on our porch
watching the rain
through the mosquito net
     our dreams past
we sit....you still hold me when i ache from the work of the day

I let a tyrant into my house
he was smaller than he looked
he laughed and played 
as any child
and stomped
and screamed
to have his way

i yielded to him

it is hard to yield to
and rear a babe
who is not a youth
but your lover

it strips you of your worth and dignity
​grow up!

He climbed atop the peaks
and to the little dale below
he dug, and dug, and dug
until he had a great big hole
the reason he said,
"it was too much strife"

The ground below
it shook and tumbled
the girl she wept
her heart did crumble
in the whole
the man did make
lay her broken heart
and empty space

She wept a while
and mourned with grace
then reached and grabbed to fill the space
but beneath the junk 
lie her broken heart
and so the pain
​would not depart