There are words to paint sombre, to picture alone,
Descriptions of sadness, of feelings Iíve known.
Incantations for screaming why at the wind,
Questions of if and what morning may bring.
There are sentences laced with sobs and dismay,
Names for deceit and the price people pay,
Angry words honed Ďtil they cut like a blade,
Designed to hurt more than mistakes that you've made.
There are phrases and verses to measure mans pain,
Summations on sorrow for regrets that remain.
With all these fine words I just wish I knew why
Iím shattered by a simple goodbye.