A darkened corner, candle flame Raindrops cling to windowpane Ticking clock, a faded rose An open book of Shakespeare prose A torn picture, souvenirs A pack of letters signed with tears And I am alone with naught to do But think of you, but think of you.
A darkened corner, shadowed wall Whispers from a haunted hall Muted music, a memory Of all the things that used to be And I am alone with naught to do But think of you, but think of you.
How long before a dream come true? How long must I but think of you?