When we were young, I thought you hung the moon.
You cast your pleasures through my open heart
And lit my darkness. Then you moved away,
And my world lost its music. All I'd known
Drifted off like ashes, and the moon shone
Madly, as if there were no truth by day.
And now all I can do is wait for the day
I see you again.
Shandee Lingard Copywrite 2008