He comes knocking on the door

A man of forty-five,

His face a story of time gone by.

He speaks her name 

But she doesn't live here anymore.

She doesn't live here anymore 

In the old house with the creaky swing

On the porch.

The roof where they once laid,

Counting the stars,

Is now covered with moss,

The evidence of their youth 

Forever lost.

She doesn't live here anymore.

He had loved her and she him,

But time, you know, has a funny way with things,

It steals hearts away,

And lovers become strangers.

The windows rattle as the wind blows,

The leaves of the weeping willow

Fall gently to the ground.

The overgrown weeds graze his feet,

The day is dimming,

In the gentle glow of the setting sun,

He sees his and her names 

Carved in the ragged trunk of 

The big willow tree.

Forever thine,

Forever mine,

There she will be,

Etched deeply in his mind. 

Forever mine,

Forever thine,

She doesn't live here anymore.

A little headstone

Hidden by the tall brown grass,

There she lies now,

Forever thine.

The girl doesn't live here anymore,

She who had wanted to see the world with him,

She who had wanted to see the capes,

the ruins of Athen, the pyramids of Egypt,

She who had wanted to dance with him,

Till the stars faded into the night.

She who had wanted to live a life of adventures with him,

She who had loved him,

But he who had loved the safe harbors.

That girl now lies

Beneath his feet. 

The man of 45,

He weeps