Apr. 2004
She works all day, and part of the night,
Without much time to get life right.
She prods the ice in her tonic and gin.
To bed, wake up, start again.
All she wants is:
A man to listen, a man to care,
To brush her cheek and run a hand through her hair.
Another year of another day.
Are the temples showing a touch of gray?
Lonely eyes tell lonely tales
Of tragedy, and dreams, and screams withheld.
All she wants is:
A man to listen, a man to care,
To brush her cheek and run a hand through her hair.
The doorbell rings - the pizza’s arrived.
She wipes a tear from a misty eye ....