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Missing You
You stare at him with blood shot eyes,
You beg to him for it to be lies.
It's a common story.
It's happened to you and me. . .
He stole your heart with kindness,
And gave it back because of your stupidity and blindness.
Now you sit alone all day,
And still you miss his graceful way.
He took away your pleasure,
And in recent times nothing has even come close to measure.
You sit alone in your bed,
Where once you laid head to head.
You sit with a knife to your chest.
You question what would be best.
The blood drips from your arms,
You miss his southern way and the old country farms. . .
