Again,
she cries,
again, she cries,
for sorrow is in her heart and in her eyes,
and despair is deep inside,
and she cannot seem to cast it aside,
and again, she cries,
again, she cries,
and by her teardrops I am mesmerised,
mesmerised at the contrast between the beauty of the tears,
and the sorrow that they hold,
and I think of the smile that she usually wears,
and I wonder,
who and what has caused this sorrow that cuts her inside,
that cuts her inside like a knife,
and time it moves so slowly,
and I have no choice but to wait for her to calm her mind,
and again, she cries, again she cries,
and her sorrow it is like the heavens,
and the clouds have emptied all the rain inside,
and I feel for her for sadness it is a terrible thing,
but in this life,
there is always an explanation,
and only in time will it come,
for the work of the devil is never done,
and the demons inside her,
are destroying her mind,
and again, she cries,
again, she cries,
because time and the world to her has not been so kind,
not been so kind,
and all I can do is sit and wait,
and hold her whilst she sobs,
and bemoans the state of her life,
the state of her life.
and dry the tears that she cries,
and listen,
and support her by being there for her,
until the dying of the sun,
and until the night,
until the night it comes,
until the stars are shining bright,
and the moon it shines down,
and her tears have all gone,
to my great delight,
to my great delight.
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