The candles have gone out and
King Love is dead.
Alone and dreaming
In a once warm bed.
The nights have gotten longer,
Sun not beaming.

The heart ceases to get stronger,
Hands still holding on.
As fixed in a mans dying grasp.
Image now faded, now gone.
But your breath continues to gasp,
And your cold hands will still hold on.

King Love is dead
But the clock is still ticking by the bed.

[ w o r d s ]


[ h o m e ]