An empty table with a book that's all in red
at the far end.
A lonely fable in a broken weary den,
yet again.
A dream of solitude that only makes you whole
til it eats your soul.,
with faint reminders from an always empty tome
and thoughts of home.
The empty pages make emotion drip away
like a Monet.
Blurring together time eternal in a frame
set aflame.
Be you a prophet or a pawn, or mighty king,
doesn't mean a thing.
Lonely hours have the power to strip away
leave us no way
alive.
Nothing except for the bones
alibis lie,
waiting underneath the cold
Forever, but baby our souls
never die.
Only in love will it be.
Ohh, Only in love will it be.
There'll be no way
alive.
Nothing except for the bones
alibis lie,
waiting underneath the cold
Forever, but baby our souls
never die.
Only in love we'll be
Only in love we'll be
alive.

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