All our words, yours and mine, were like the weaver bird's design. One day suddenly we both fell silent, parting's waters rushed down, drop by drop, violent.
You said, "Take care," I heard and replied, "You too! From tonight, no more staying awake—sleep a little sooner, do." You laughed and said, "Alright, I'll keep late nights few, I have to write it all down—our story, me and you!"
I asked, "Won't you remember all the words we've said? I'd forgotten—you can't express what's in your heart, what's in your head!" You said the diary of my heart was your most precious thing: "What you'll say when, just one look and I know everything!"
Home feels empty now, my mind won't settle to any task, writing something, reading something, scattered papers I can't ask. How much anguish can live in those pain-filled songs? Was there no path back through pride or love's yearning throngs?