I’ve been sitting at the station
Since the day you departed,
just me and dead roses,
waiting, hoping, dying

Days turn to weeks, spring into summer
People come and go as do the years
but on the bench I do remain
waiting, hoping, dying

The tracks have rusted over
and the station stands no more,
But upon the bench I sit, just me and dead roses,
waiting, hoping for your return
so I too may go on living.