The clock in the kitchen says 2:55 and the clock in the kitchen is slow.
Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who’s out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.
Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung down, eyes to the floor.
He says “Love, I’m sorry”, and she says, “What for?
I’m yours and that’s it, Whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I’m yours and that’s it, forever.”
You’re mine and that’s it, forever.