I am tired of that old sound
when I come home
and nothing waits me
I am tired of being looked at
given a wink
just a hint
and keep misunderstanding it
as just a look
on this face
that face I knew so well
that I could paint it
without looking at it
just with the feeling of my hands
I knew every trace of it
and every feeling on it
and now
all I get
is just a wink.