Kneeling on an empty grave,
crying to someone she never forgave,
under the pines he lay,
waiting for the light of day.

Light doesn't shine through the ground,
heart laid to rest, never been found.
Zephyr moves in, as the evening sighs,
as the moon falls, the sun rise.

Under the black oak,
a red novel spoke,
"All the blame you wasted in years,
was never really worth all those tears."

She walked around good intentions,
realizing sunny days called for attention,
sinking into a box of uncertainty,
their imperfect love came comfortably.

Faucet of tears turns on in her eyes,
dealing with a fact she'll never compromise,
certainly, certainly he'll understand,
holding a cross in his dead hand.