Early evening, late February, the sun falling through the trees
Songbirds singing lullabies, though they do not see
The wound of love since time began, in the little house on the street
Flapped her wings into the night, no longer to be seen
She began to slip away from his hold sometime in the fall
Her colleague was a married man, strong, handsome, and tall
But as work demanded more of her time, the more he tried to control
Grasping at old memories could not bring them home
He grabbed the pistol from the dresser drawer, his vision gone red
And with a force stronger than human hands, it dropped her to the bed
And then he turned it on himself, with the guilt, confusion, and rage
There was no one left to turn out the lights in the house on Jefferson Lane
She flashed her wings into the night, returning no longer again
