Standing in the doorway, in the dying of the light Torn between your heart and your soul. All we do is love until we are confused. Not a nurturing love, but a torturing love. A love that won’t help you grow. It’ll only hold on, screaming don’t go.
Longing again for that old reprieve, In which summer is exchanged for winter, Where nothing is worse than greed, And a tortured soul is a loving heart.