There is a window up above,
a window where a woman is stood holding a cigarette,
a woman with a distant look in her eyes,
a look that you cannot forget,
and she looks out to sea,
but she does not see me,
and she slowly sheds a tear,
a single tear,
a tear that slowly rolls down her face,
as she remembers the life of the loved one,
that could not be saved,
that could not be saved on that fateful day from the sea,
and she always remembers the words that he used to say,
but she wishes it was not that way,
and she remembers the memories,
as fresh as they were the day,
and she tries and she tries,
and she tries to drink herself into an early grave,
and how sad it is to see and how painful it must be,
because a haunting look is written upon her face,
and there is pain,
there is anger,
there is rage and bitterness,
and how horrific her memories,
and how cruel is the sea,
and in her tears is the water that took her loved one’s life,
and the water that contains his last memories.
