Strumming the next cliche
'bout love and moths
to a flame

'bout losing and not being
able to live without them
how I'll never be the same

Since they left
or since they've arrived

and whisper their name
into my pillow's sponge
filled with tears of pain
or tears of joy
they're both the same

Strumming away the cliches
because forever is just a day
or no more than a month
never more than a year

'cause you have my heart
or my lung
or other body parts
that I can't live without

'cause I never tire
of you
and that which used to
make me laugh
but now annoys me

'cause I'm strumming cliches
under the carpet
behind my rug
out of my head

Since you left
or since you arrived

Who I live for
without which I'd die
forever dying

like some moth
to the moon
in June
held in a spoon

Strumming the next cliche

How do I keep from
missing you?

How do I stop lingering in
my memories?

Those comforting thoughts of
moments spent.

In glances I tried to
absorb every bit of you.

In gasps,
in brushes,
in talks,
I tried.

Now within quiet slivers
of the day,
there you are.

I can write may lines
but they would only all
say one thing...