So fleeting are the words we say tonight,
more than everything, but less than nothing.
Replaying whispers raging in the wind,
those rare spinning looms of confrontation.
More than everything, but less than nothing,
a tender patchwork quilt made for sharing.
Those rare spinning looms of confrontation
voices that dusk has still to cast shadows for.
A tender patchwork quilt made for sharing,
once bonded by words, two hearts that were one.
Voices that dusk has yet to cast shadows for,
heard no more between lonely dusk and dawn.
Once bonded by words, two hearts that were one,
now broken shards that crystallise the night.
Heard no more between lonely dusk and dawn,
mute shadows mask their shattered red remains.
