is it cold?

is it cold? is it hard?
is it made of stone or a deck of cards?
'cause i know as sure as one can know
it won't mean a thing if you go

what good is a heart that won't beat?

try to see things from my position
every star wasn't meant for wishing
is it cold in here or am i just missing you?

is it dead? is it still?
is it six feet under the daffodils?
'cause i see exactly what you see
the space where my heart used to be

it has been filled with concrete

there's no treatment for my condition
every sea wasn't meant for fishing
is it cold in here or am i just missing you?

remember the days spent in each other's eyes
we wasted our nights singing lullabies
but the heart is a muscle
it needs exercise
and that's no lie (this line sucks--from now on it will be
"or it atrophies")

try to see things from my position
every star wasn't meant for wishing
is it cold in here or am i just missing you?

what good is a heart that won't beat?

end.

is it cold? ©2001 by frank caravella