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Part with a once loved hand
Funny that it starts to rain
A metaphor for the truth
Or just plain bad timing?

Those pretty brown eyes
Now turning a sad sore red
Palms once smooth
Now rough as arseholes
What was funny and kitsch
Now makes her swear and feel sick

Everyone has the right to change
But when heavy glass ashtrays fly too freely towards mocking eyes
You know that the process has moved onto something else entirely
So is she now stronger or weaker than him?

The sky seems higher when you’re falling fast to the floor
The world gets smaller when you’re forced to close a door.