Tia

The Violinist

Night after night he would come home,
from the blood that made his skin warm.
Words cannot express, though its the music,
with the story of his life, played out in seconds.

Hands clasped on the wooden violin,
his eyes closed, passion streamed through his music.
What is he thinking, as he played on,
what is he dreaming, all night long.

Longing for company, he awaits,
maybe one day a girl would come and sweep him away.
Until then, the music he will play,
until then in the land of the violin,
that's where my beloved chere would stay.

He places the violin down then walks over to the chair in front of his fireplace,
thinking, longing, for someone to come to him, to carress,
to run his fingers in their hair, to kiss their mouth on their delicate face,
to hold and to comfort.

But the violinist would stand up now,
takes the violin and began the sweet sound.
On and on he would play until its time to sleep,
so don't you cry, dear child, do not weep,
the sound of his music, is passionate, and sweet,
and will sweep you off your delicate little feet.

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Without You

There is a song I'd like to sing,
for you to hear,
there is a love I'd like to bring,
that I wish I would be so near.

Thine eyes hold thee love,
for yet I can't turn away,
thy heart as pure as the angels above,
yet there is alot to say.

O' how can I strive to live,
without you I cease to be,
O' how much I wish yet to give,
For one night of you to share with me.

O' how your music brings such desire,
yet thy love for you rise with passion like fire.

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Each Time

Each time the rain falls,
I think of your tears.
Each time the sun sets,
I think of your cheer.
Each time I hear November Rain,
I cry, I felt the pain.
The moon, how beautiful it shines,
I think of you each time.
Every time I break down and cry,
you come into my mind,
you erased the sadness,
and replaced it with happiness.

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