Ever since February
the roof has been leaking on me.
Leaving puddles of sad tones of you,
I soaked it up and you never knew.
Remember the Sunday doldrums,
the stolen mischiefs, I still have some.
I still can hear midnight lullabies
through all the lies, you can have mine.
And on that day I felt a chill,
a foreign wind up on the hill,
In a temptuous fit of surrender
I throw up my hands though I'll never get away.