> Remember when our so-called friend would not call out to you while tumbling loosely out a hole punched through your home? Its pretty clear, though you could hear, you truly finally knew, in time, hed tell his tale the way hed like it told. Now he isnt on the phone, and his story might as well be so. Well, loving is as loving does, and Id say we should know, because we both have loved, have lost, and are alone. Your faces falling tears, to me theyre lovely and theyre dear, though you dont love me and its clear that I will never see you in my arms. Theres no room in your heart for even this finely-sharpened dart; although I had started to think there might be hope, it isnt so. So wake up, make up some new song again around the same tune. The water cools, the leaves they fall, the sun it bends, the summer ends; our so-called friend doesnt need you. So proceed out the door and down the street. Decembers lying near, but in the ovens heat this house is now a home. Sixty days of trips and stays you took to tell me, dear, that you cannot love me because you secretly still love a stone. Although I put my lips to your face, trying to push his kiss out of its place, although my heart started to race, now it has slowed, Ill let it go.