Every night I lay there
alone in the darkness
etching into the wall
some magical symbol
ripped from ancient lore
It's a spell of love
and a cruse of fate
Because it's fate my love
that made this bed cold
and my arms so empty
the hands that trace this symbol
into this wall shrouded in the darkness
should be strumming your hair
and pulling you tight
but not tonight my dear
nor the next so it seems
Because the spell I cast
upon this damnable wall
will not see light of day
until another night
another night like this
in which I can hold you close
and whisper softly to you
the words that I want to say
and the words that you want to hear
