
For love is what I write of.
Alone, I stand alone on this enclave
Nothing to see, nobody to call home
With this I will not become a slave
Instead I must grow deeper in love with the brome
Love is something I will never leave behind
You can bury it with me when I die
For I am not weak alone or blind
I will carry this even when I cry
My home is centered on these sunny days
For they keep me from going insane
Life passes me by in a phase
My bones start to shrivel in pain
Often times I see ships passing me by
But they will never know where I lie
Many people will be lost too
But not the way I feel without you
Alone, I stand alone on this enclave
Nothing to see, nobody to call home
With this I will not be a slave
For love
Is what I write of.