One flake of sand, meant for every hand.
Forever and more will you be my bore?
Lasting words which we use to hurt, wouldn’t and shouldn’t we rather flirt?
Our biggest pothole has been bumped and hit.
Be there for me when I need you more and least, when we will then fit.
The years will go by and in old age; we will look back without any mistakes and not feel as though
we’ve been entrapped in a rusty old cage.