. . . Birds in the sky, they've all gone to bed. Drops have faded into puddles and the leaves are dead. No-one's alive at this time of night. I'm all alone and basking in the moonlight. But can anybody hear this sad little song, Which echoes down the alleyways where I most belong? Is anybody out there, huddled up in their homes, Willing to listen to someone with no where to go? Although, that's a lie: I do have somewhere to be. Where I live without living and remain trapped without a key. However, that's somewhere where I'm not me. And if I'm not me, it's not me there, you see? The sky keeps on darkening and clouds cover the moon I see my bus approaching, and I'll be 'home' soon. But if 'home is where the heart is', then that place is just a shelter. And my home is with her, my rock, my closure.
