I wake every day and her face, it is there.
Never a minute goes by.

I walk through the maze, my mind in a daze
my Angel she hears not my cry

To love is to hurt, but no love is worse
I choose to carry this pain

and given the choice to see her sweet face
I take it again and again.

So love is a prison that makes us all free
to know what is real or naught.

To love but to loose or to not love at all
is indeed good food for thought.