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| I am only | |
| a voice in the night | |
| . | |
| Yet you see me | |
| as you think I am | |
| . | |
| Bits and pieces | |
| of a woman | |
| Stolen | from quiet conversations |
| and circumstantial lies | |
| . | |
| And it is this person | |
| who you know so little | |
| And know so well | |
| who satisfies your longings | |
| . | |
| And fills the emptiness | |
| in your soul | |
| . | |
| I comfort you | |
| and calm you | |
| Warm you | |
| and cherish you | |
| . | |
| But I cannot | |
| touch you | |
| . | |
| For I am only | |
| a voice | |
in the night |
|
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