Now that you have returned to me
come and sit by the fire,
tell your tales from across the sea,
play your favorite lyre.
I've got a hundred words to say
of sadness and torment
and still a thousand to convey
from love I haven't spent.
From letters you failed to recieve,
to calls you didn't get,
since the day you were forced leave,
I wallowed in regret.
But now that you've come back at last,
please make me understand
why you appear so pale, aghast.
Why can't I hold your hand?