The empty house is a metaphor,
Of a family gone away,
Where they went? Who knows,
But they are gone to stay.
The birds singing in the morning,
Tell you about a clock,
The hands spining in inches per hour,
But still they never stop.
If life had a metaphor,
I think it would be a song,
Enjoyable evey second,
But never very long,
The girl in the corner,
Is a metaphor of yourself,
A pretty face to look at,
But more than a trophy on the shelf,
