She loves me,
She loves me not,
She loves me;
She's not in love with me.
It's as clear as the dew drop,
With rays of light shining off of it,
On a cold winter morning,
With a silence to match the mood.
I try to pull myself together;
Tugging at the sleeves of my shirt,
With yet another frail attempt
At giving myself a hug.
A failed romance it's been, again
Its hope dying a silent death,
Like the last drag from my last cigarette,
Adding ages to a soul that's old.
Sometime between night and dawn,
Under the sheets, upon the pillow,
My tears roll down to welcome,
Yet another sleepless night.