Ah, yes, to walk these streets alone
Gives rise to the ring of the telephone
The traffics noise meshed to a drone
And havens a place we call home.

Silly little laughs and mournful cries
Lovers wandering warranted sighs
The hustle and bustle of the passersby’s
Soon enough the season flies.

Whispering voices in the wind
Tall tales we shall rescind
The crowding now has thinned
Repenting those who have sinned.

Eyes that look but cannot see
That there’s nothing left of me
Heading forward to the sea
To the great beyond guarantee.