My friend, how often do you cry?
I see the remnants on your cheeks
And the cold, damp stains on your sheets.
Yet there is no red in your eye.
My friend, how often do you hide?
I see the mask of gold smiles
And the fancy perfume vials.
Yet neither is at your bedside.
My friend, what is it you feel?
I see sorrow dance on your lips
With each of those martini sips.
Is there nothing I can heal?
My friend, please tell me what to do,
I want to see what is in your soul;
To be the one who makes you whole,
Because I love your point of view.
Or rather, my friend, because I love you.
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