Hourglass Waltz

There's a house at the edge of the evening. There's a crib there that is buried in dust. A laid table is buried in the cobwebs and the knives are all covered in rust. Your wedding dress rots in the attic,
worn playthings are strewn on the floor. There's the sweet epitaph of my affection where love doesn't live anymore.

Yellowed photographs of young people smiling, you stare back at me from another time. You accused me of wasting the morning, I've been sentenced, but what was my crime? Distant memories begin to awaken,
as I swim in the lakes of your tears. Singing songs of love lost to mourning, joy was sacrificed to unfounded fears.

When we danced to the rhythm of the moonlight smelled your fragrance all over your skin we descended to the close of the music I let go and you maintained the spin and I looked up at your heavenly body
felt our fingertips sliding apart we were joined at the waist with the music, but no longer entwined at the heart.