This love I used to feel,
seems to be lost in the many dial tones
and dramatic pauses of your voice.
My freedom hidden,
in the questions you demand,
This lather of lust in the lack,
of indifference.
Difference of this freedom you don't
seem to understand.
To let go, to hold on,
to stagger home, still alone.
And the progression of this,
to home phone calls,
seems to slip away from my finger tips.
To hear your voice,
to voice your pain,
click of the dial tone
and once again.
Total silence,
the seems to mend,
when me and the operator,
are left together again.