yes, i wrote something. fuck you.

"Waking Up Is Still Honest"
Madeline held her hand under the water
Broken after three years alone
"Where are you now, James?"
Her reflection empty, her words hollow
On the night stand his glasses still sit
With a newspaper for the day he comes back
Her wrinkled hands still traces the shoulders of his shirts
She'd go, but she'd die if she didn't stay here
And she wouldn't be alive anywhere else
Oh, Madeline, he ain't coming home tonight
It's been five long years, now, and counting twelve more days
When he was leaving, James had one foot in the grave
And a pain in his chest
Madeline, when will you be alright?
He didn't pack his bags, he didn't write a word down
"Old men don't need those things when they go to die."
So James closed the door and walked out into the street
Madeline lost to their bed, still asleep
And he sighs, "Madeline, I ain't coming home tonight."
She pours herself some tea
Waiting for her last chance to be happy
The days wander off, and the clouds wander in
She knows she'll always love him
But how long can she survive on love alone?
And the day that she died, she still felt the pain
The last words to grace her lips:
"James, my darling, are you coming home tonight?"