This was supposed to be our future.
In the haunting hours before dawn,
When demons stroll this broken earth,
And hideous hounds howl at a coruscating moon,
I think of her, and the things left,
In the desolate hours before dawn;
I recall everything I felt when I saw her,
And how I nervously looked into her eyes.
I keep wondering; was it love, or
In the eerie hours before dawn;
I brood upon the things I wish I’d said,
Knowing nothing would come of it,
For there is no chance I could awake the
In the bashful hours before dawn;
I tiptoe on the ledge between fact and fiction,
Amidst vivid memories of the one who
Was taken away from me, never to come
This was supposed to be our lives.