Come home to me right now, pack your bags and catch a cab, I miss you. Call me on the telephone the ringer’s, broken notifications silent. Do the pretty girls tempt you there when you dance in bars, drinking modern cocktails, laughing intimately?
I pace the floor at night and dune that web for lies and trickeries, it’s making me so nervous now and I can’t sleep anymore —- Come home to me right now, pack your bags and catch a cab, the hurricane is coming my way, I don’t want to be alone.
My love is stronger, though it seems weaker. I don’t love less, but show less my love. This doesn’t mean I don’t want you, so come home to me right now, don’t bother to shave, put out your cigarette out and catch a cab, I need to kiss you.
Our love was still new when I used to write poems about it, just as the nightingale sings at the start of summer, then stops singing as summer wanes. It’s not that summer is less pleasant now than the nights when your nightingale sang for you:
My heart is just a cherry tree filled with songbirds singing but when love gets common, they’re less delightful; yet your nightingale still sings for you but silently. Keeping her silence so as not to bore you with her constant song.
Come home to me right now pack your bags, catch a cab, I miss you. Call me on the telephone the ringer’s broken, notifications silent. The pretty girls all smile at you and laugh at every joke but pack your bags and catch a cab, the hurricane is coming my way,
I don’t want to be alone. I don’t love less but I show less my love, that doesn’t mean I don’t want you
So come home to me right now don’t bother to shave put out your cigarette, pack a bag and catch a cab, come home to me, I need to kiss you.
