Spring is suspended in the grey... The emerald grass is weeping on the clay. The ghost of yester-year is drifting far behind... And the cold water hits me, stinging, heavy and blind! But I miss the sound... I hear your silence... wrapped... all around. I’m grieving in the night... and the dawn.... Where the air is thin and old, Like a winter’s phantom, I feel you in the cold. I reach for the ghost of your hand... A face in the glass I don't understand. The table is set... your plate is waiting there, Your favourite, my passion, waiting just for you... But the steam just rises into empty air. This new sun is burning my skin... It’s a damp, hollow heat where the winter stayed in. You were the focus... my reality day and night... I want you by my side... and I can't... you're gone... Now there’s no sympathy... just the oncoming fight. Just the spring... just the frost... no you... just the lost.
