Heart Of The Matter
The Trinket Box
The trinket box,
Lies open there,
And all alone,
I sit and stare,
The contents,
Tell a tale or two,
And nothing left,
Of me, and you.
A remnant of,
A happy past,
That promised ever,
More to last,
And tied with thread,
A lock of hair,
And silence from,
An empty chair.
Lies open there,
And all alone,
I sit and stare,
The contents,
Tell a tale or two,
And nothing left,
Of me, and you.
A remnant of,
A happy past,
That promised ever,
More to last,
And tied with thread,
A lock of hair,
And silence from,
An empty chair.
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The Trinket Box
The Trinket Box
