It hurts to be in the arms of the one you love,
And know that you can never be his,
Why is it so tormenting? This love,
That hurts even to be his.
It hurts to lie in his arms,
Waiting for time to take him away,
The endless clock who march its long arms,
Fast, without stopping on its way.
We find each other,
The complete of the other part,
Which was broken, we thought forever.
To wait for that parting again,
To the hurt and sorrow,
With nothing to gain,
Except that endless wait for tomorrow.
Tomorrow where we might find each other,
The wake with hopefulness,
That we might find one another,
But to bed we go with emptiness.
Even if we did find each other,
We would only part again and again,
From one lifetime to another,
The end always follows us again.
We cannot run from it,
No matter how fast,
We cannot hide from it,
It will only find us just as fast.