Heart is dieing to be loved. Body is trying too be hugged. Soul wants to be owned. He’s getting me cold. Out buried in the cold. I hate to be mole. Every time I’m lone. Come to me let me be phoned. So I can be skid and dove. Take me away from this worthless world. So I can dream to be cherished and stove. In your soul where my soul is boned. Am I here to be lost or found? Am I here to be killed or sound? I wish all that is written, read an adored. But what a pity am gone and gone. Is love possible for me when my heart is stoned? Impossible so don’t be stunned. Stoned is it or may be just snowed. Waiting to melt away and be showed. Maybe then my heart, body and soul won’t say that am owned