Second Hand Man

She packed her bags one day Left me in the dark Running away, what a lark I stare at the walls; life seems so bleak and stark I wrote her love letters Only a thousand or two The poor old postman Carrying them all back to my door Return to sender was the obvious score So I took my pen and wrote a few more Before dousing my desires In the illusions of folklore Where out of the forest On a mist filled dawn Returned my princess Singing our song Alas I walk along lonely forest paths I dream and ponder of what might have been I look up to the heavens and demand, what was my sin? That I am alone, surrounded in deathly silence A second hand man Waiting For a second hand rose