She pours herself another glass of wine.
Tells herself yet another time she's fine.
But earlier today she lost an hour.
A gaping hole just like. Inside her.
She wears that smile another day in life.
For all we know another perfect wife.
But sometimes she's just gazing into nowhere.
An empty face just like.
She's not there.
Somewhere inside her there's a child.
Longing to break away and fly.
But she is just letting life pass by.
Whenever a plane is passing by.
Or migrating birds fill up the sky.
Something is stirring deep inside.
She doesn't know why but.
Softly she cries.
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