Every building has a story to tell, every window has a face to share. It’s just my perspective that matter.
Sometimes it’s a mother, with those wet clothes, Or it’s the dad with some ashes to throw.
Sometimes it’s cradle with a warm smile Or it’s a girl with those damp eyes.
Look closely and I see the story clear The story of her heart, that is again broken and tear.
She trying to hold tight, trying to forget what just went inside. Telling herself to calm down, because it’s just day 1 and 364 days still undercount.
Let’s not get deep, and let her on her own. Because when I turned the mirror said, babe, it’s only you.
Sometimes I wonder if the words are supposed to be complicated to finally share the real meaning or just something straight can share the best what’s inside.