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The flowers have wilted on the sill |
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And words have been kept so small and still |
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And yet if the great opinion speaks |
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Then sadly we nod our heads and agree |
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Barely a mention of your name |
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On deaf ears a distant whisper |
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Whatever, no one gets it |
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It's already overdue you will not be heard by many now |
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But I'll always be amazed by every sound your ever made |
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While building a tolerance to them |
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You made sorrow sound like a good friend |
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The well where the poison pen was drawn |
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The same place you trusted then but was gone |
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Enemies battled in your mind |
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Until all the blood shed leaked down |
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Dried up and rusted the fight |
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It's already overdue you will not be heard by many now |
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But I'll always be amazed by every sound you ever made |
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And since |
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I did not know you, |
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I can only say but a few words |
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Too bad they won't hear your song that |
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I've been singing all alone |
