High on the taste of midnight sound,
he waited till none was around,
Before he fretted,
And regretted,
The very next day

She looked at him, he stared right back,
Tried explain but hadn’t the knack,
To refuse it,
Or abuse it,
with what he’d say :

CHORUS:
Doesn’t your heart ever splinter,
Why it’s made out of wood...

He’d only glance, then look away,
To tell the truth would shorten his stay,
Time to bite the bit,
Then forget it,
In coming days.

He dealt in truth, but lived in fear,
Almost noone got near,
She tried to crack him
“Is something lacking?”
Aloud she’d cry :

CHORUS
BRIDGE

Dried up with taste of morning sand,
Just hang about with no evening planned,
Then he realised,
Much to her surprise,
He had to run.

He made no plan for calling back,
A trait for which he’d the knack,
Though compassionate,
Thought he’d ration it,
Just one more time.

CHORUS
Outro…