Some would say, She was always that way, But I knew better, I knew her when she was gay
Who are we, Who trundle here,
At the dawn, you hold them near, A doe to fawn, they are your dear
My days are empty, They pass me by, My nights are hollow, You ask me why
Window window to my soul, Come and tell me what they stole
Loneliness is a moon-kissed clearing, Sweetest sorrow softly nearing
Who are you really?