...

I look far east,
Or so I thought,
Reading the familiar star.

But when the sky is this dark,

And the night so alone,

I just talk,

To my singing pen.

The spring ain't a melancholy,
But by this sea,
Some flowers just don't grow.

But then,

Like the scent of a woman,
Old memories of passion,
Are never out of fashion;

All things said,

Let me live your life instead;

Maybe then I would know,

Just what to show.