War is triumph,
War is gain,
War is heartache,
War is pain.
Two households who are both alike,
By day and night, by swords do fight,
In fair Verona where our scene is laid,
Is where we find a young and love-struck maid,
My words on the page, do you see them up there?
'Up there' is it a place, and if so then where?
I'd like to find you and thank you for your work through the ages
But i doubt that your name and number are in the yellow pages.
I learn my lines
I play my part,
I make believe
You have a heart.
Sitting on a bus
Just the two of us
Wind blows cold
But i have you to hold.