None left

 

From the other side of the earth I used to murmur.
Guess it´s nothing to her.
Fail to find the stardust that would it light up
an ordinary night enough
to cure our hearts, transform lust.
There´s none of that good stuff,
we´re apart.
And shores are oilspills
even the warmest hearts would be chilled.
The pollution of nerves and heresay
would get in the way.
That little ray of hope would die like winter´s child,
like "You give me the world and I´ll let your
oggling eyes look".
Nothing left for me as she eases red in the face.
Stardust is used yet no addiction was abused.
Popularity contests were won,
hearts on sleeves were refused.