I apologise. There once was a time when it could flow from my virtual lips. And it would be half arsed decent. 

When men would email for all that I wrote and women would swoon with sweet words that I picked. There was a well that I tapped. And it ran dry. 

But I refuse for it to be the only. So give me grace. Give me time. 

Give me standing on each street corner. Looking for you. 

Give me me time. Hearing you after you've died in a car accident that I know you wanted. 

But there's a girl in the parking lot.