Is this something real,
or am I a fool?
Is this how you feel,
or are you plain cruel?
Are these the words that you say,
so I don't run away?
Or is there a heart,
is there a heart behind it all?
Is life as one,
only a promise of nights alone?
Craving the phone to ring,
times to sing,
sorrows of a life, of a life gone by.
In this empty house,
as empty hours build,
this room is filled with doubt.
Am I to move on without
your hand in mine,
or is it worth a lie?

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