I hear you want to talk,
about the man, your man, not mine,
do not concieve, or believe I am his,
I hear your hurt, i hear your voice, now
take the time, to perceive mine,
What I am to him and nothing more,
is his discomfort of you to even some score,
I am his change in mid-stream, I am his inception
of what he was, I am ease, I am his whore,
I am the dip stick for his tranmisson,
for his gears have been stripped,
he comes to me to talk of you, I am his transition,
I am the phone call waiting late into the evening,
for a moment, a day here and there, I pause,
for I do fool myself, that I could be you he’s leaving,
only to return to you, for I am his secret, his lost desire,
I am year in his life, while you find you are grieving,
I am the memory that will go with him in old age,
for now I am the need, the greed, on which he feeds,
You were the embrace, I became the lace, the stage,
His senses will return, and with me, it will end,
forgive him for what he does, he did not leave you for me,
He is just a man, a lost soul, I his am last and final sin~
