Farcical, this crazy, strange love.
All it takes is a gentle shove.
To rise or fall, in its tempting arms.
To rise or fall, in its tempting arms.
To accede or repel its many charms.
But there comes a time in your dream-run,
When autumn leaves dry in the burning sun.
Spring’s over, tall, naked trees loom.
Flowers aren’t much, they bud, they bloom.
When songs lose meaning, they make noise.
The melody’s ripped, from your soulful voice.
I look for what’s lost, I sift and I sieve.
When I know truly well, it’s all make-believe.
Longing no longer gives me the thrill,
Of seeing, of touching, of needing you still.
It matters no more, love’s desire long gone.
No more butterflies, this heart’s moved on.
As much as I detest, I must say for it’s true,
As much as I loved, now I’ve weaned off you.
But why, you ask me, and it leaves me reeling.
Is this what happens when you stop feeling?
Is this what happens when you stop feeling?
