You shall sit in the old bench,
Where so many has sat.
Prayed and wept
Or wept and prayed.
Recount the number of fingers
Between the rain and the sea
The numbers seem wrong
Forever it shall be.
Like the rain and the sea
Between love and silence
There are lost ballads and strings.
My heart breaks as the cloud erupts
The strings of lust over your sprawl.
But the countless
Numbers always seem wrong.
The old bench shall never emote;
But those sitting in it will.
Once a tree with flowers
Which lovers like you and me gazed at,
Rejoining everyday to see them again and again.
But now;
Between the rainclouds
So many have sat and cried,
For so many numbers have gone wrong
For so many prayers are unheard.
