It was a lovely hotel and for once it looked exactly like it had in the brochure. The online reviews ranged, like they normally did, from describing it as paradise on earth to an outpost of hell. Ignoring the two extremes most people had posted that they’d had a positive experience, so she booked. For the money, it was reasonable accommodation.
One of the unexpected things that really pleased her was how silent it was. They had chosen to come out of season. It was the middle of September and so the schools were back, thank heavens. She couldn’t think of anything worse than going on holiday and being surrounded by packs of screaming kids. It reminded her painfully of the fact that she couldn’t have any and also made her feel slightly glad of it.
I reposted a short story that I wrote a couple of years ago about the discovery of a secret from the past.
This is the final part:
I flicked through that infernal diary.
No, no mention of her wedding, but I stopped at another entry.
January 7th, 1918
Edgar and Theodore have enlisted. Emma and I both cried and begged them not to go. They looked so solemn. They had to go, they said. Foolish Pride! We had had such a lovely Christmas together, just the four of us and then they had to spoil it but joining the army. The war has been going on in Europe for some time, but America only joined in last year. I never knew why they did. What do we care about Europe?
Flick, flick.
November 15th, 1918
The war has ended. Finally, we have heard that Theodore and Edgar are coming home. They were both injured in battle and have been recovering at a Hospital in London but they should be home soon. Neither of them wrote about their injuries at all.
Emma and I have been getting on fine, keeping house together. We haven’t had an argument or a fight once, who would have thought it?
This should be the best Thanksgiving ever.
November 22nd, 1918
Both Edgar and Theodore are different now. The war has made them withdrawn. I can understand why Edgar might have been affected by it, he’s lost and eye. Theodore doesn’t seem much damaged, he’s walking awkwardly but I couldn’t detect any other sign of injury at all.
Flick
February 14th, 1919
After months of pain down below I finally went to see Doctor Chinnery. He told me what I had begun to fear. My womb is deformed and I will never be able to have children. He told me it was probably something that happened to me as a child. I suddenly remembered when Emma had pushed me out of that tree house all those years ago. It was all her fault. She told me about Theodore’s war injury the other night too. Apparently, he had been shot, in the groin. So at least Emma won’t be having any children either, I don’t think I could bear that!
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I hadn’t gotten over how nasty and resentful Great Aunt Sally was coming across. She had always seemed such a sweet and dear old lady, always handing out sweets to me and my brothers. Clearly, she had been quite different on the inside. The thing that had caused me to pause and reread that particular entry was the bit about not being able to have children. If neither of them could have children then how could my Mother have been born?
I thumbed my way past pages, ever forward, hoping to find some answers. I wish I had stopped there and not read further but I did.
It seemed that they lived together, in this house and been quite happy together. Even Great Aunt Sally’s rantings seemed to die down a bit. I skimmed over snippets of parties and gatherings, Christmases and thanksgivings. Great Grandmother had moved in and eventually died. The passing of years played out in monologue until I stopped at an entry that made me shudder.
April 17th 1935
I had noticed something odd about Emma that was causing me to wonder. Since Christmas she seemed to be gaining a little weight around the middle. It was odd because we ate the same things. Neither of us had much of a sweet tooth. I noticed she had a kind of glow about her too. I challenged her about it and she admitted the truth. All those years stripped away and we were children screaming and shouting at each other, just like in that tree house. She told me she always knew I hated her and she hated me too. She admitted choosing Theodore because I had told her I loved him. Then she admitted that she and Edgar had been enjoying each other’s company. She was pregnant with Edgar’s child. I nearly killed her then. Only one thing stopped me. The thought of that little baby, that sweet innocent child. I decided that I would keep her secret for now. For the baby’s sake.
Then the final entry.
August 19th, 1935
The baby was born. A beautiful baby girl, we’ll call her Alice. Emma had managed to convince Theodore that he was the father. As if he could be capable of it with his manhood all withered, but I suppose love will make you believe anything. Edgar knew, of course, but he was keeping himself well out of it. I moved out of our double bedroom to that room at the end of the landing. I couldn’t sleep with him any longer knowing what he’d done. What Emma had made him do. Now the baby had been born safe, I didn’t wait another minute before I went and told Theodore the truth. He hadn’t wanted to believe me at first. Then he looked at me with dead eyes. How much he had changed from that handsome, blue eyed young man he’d been. The War had started it, but I had just finished it. He was dead on the inside now. Edgar was out in the barn chopping logs, making himself scarce. Theodore stood up and walked out of the house. I saw him through the window, go into the barn. I heard the gunshot too.
I went back upstairs to Emma. She was still sleeping softly. She’d had a hard time of it, but I’d helped her through. She begged me that if anything should happen to her, if she died in childbirth, that I would bring up her little girl. Of course, I would. That was all part of the plan. It was easy in the end, so easy. She always kept that gold locket around her neck. A quick pull was all it took really.
It’s the end now. All that Love and Hate, all those years. We had hated each other but now I was free. I will bury her outside under that tree that Theodore planted not long after we all moved in. Theodore will help me. We’ll bury Edgar too. I’ll lock this book up in the box that my sister loved so much and I’ll put the key in the locket around her neck and bury it with her. Nobody will know, but just for myself, I had to explain, why I killed my Sister today. I hated her, that’s why.
I looked down at the book. I had never felt so chilled in all my life. The Summer’s heat, it was 100 Fahrenheit in the shade, failed to dispel the sudden cold. I shivered uncontrollably.
I remember Grandfather had been a quiet man who barely spoke. He’d died when I was six or seven. My Mother had met and married my Daddy at college and he’d moved in to the family homestead and had me and my brothers. I remember it had been a happy home then, happy families. Mother and Father, Father’s brother, Uncle Peter and his wife Auntie Annie and their sons, my cousins, Bobby and Elwood. My brothers Denny and Will, and of course Great Aunt Sally. She seemed to love all the children running around. How could a woman who had shown them so much love have had such potential for hate? They’d all gone; moved away or passed over. Looking back, that game of happy families seemed so shallow and empty now.
Coming back suddenly to the present, I decided that it was best that this secret died. I didn’t want my brothers reading it, or their children.
I worked with a single-minded purpose that I’d always had. I didn’t have trouble finding wood to burn, or kindling. The dry summer had provided plenty. I built a huge pile of logs over that body and I didn’t let myself think about who it was anymore. I took out a match and lit the pile. It caught straight away, the fire raging through that tinder dry kindling. I then threw the leather-bound diary into the heart of the flames. It seemed to act like a solvent, making the fire explode. Sparks flew up and landed on the timber roof tiles of our family house. Within seconds the house was on fire.
For just a moment I stood there open-mouthed as the flames licked along the roof and down the clapperboard facias. I thought I caught a glimpse of an old lady at the upstairs window, peering out through the lace curtains. Could it be Great-Aunt Sally?
Then I came back to reality. My Mother was in the house. The house was on fire. Quickly I ran into the house and up the stairs. My Mother was still on her bed at the other end of the house. She coughed then and started to stir slightly as I picked her up. She was so frail that I didn’t have much difficulty in holding her up and moving her towards the stairs. The smoke was building up now. I grabbed my handkerchief and put it over my mouth and managed to half-drag my mother down the stairs and out of the front door.
We both lay on the dry grass and watched as the family house burned. I hoped to God that the past would burn with it.
In doing my research I realised that there are probably as many songs about heartache and breaking up as there are about falling in love in the first place! That shows that it pretty much happens to everyone at some point.
I wanted to be particularly thorough with this subject and nobody did break up songs quite as well as Fleetwood Mac. Both “Go your Own Way” and “Dreams” were both about the break up of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. Lindsey Buckingham wrote “Go your own way” and Stevie Nicks wrote “Dreams” and knowing that their ex partner would have to perform it with them! Revenge is bitter and sweet!. They must have been incandescent with rage when writing them.
Lyrics – Written by Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac. Released in 1977.
Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom Well, who am I to keep you down? It’s only right that you should play the way you feel it But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost And what you had And what you lost
Oh, thunder only happens when it’s raining Players only love you when they’re playing Say, women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know You’ll know
Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions I keep my visions to myself It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams And have you any dreams you’d like to sell? Dreams of loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost And what you had Oh, what you lost
Thunder only happens when it’s raining Players only love you when they’re playing Women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know
Oh, thunder only happens when it’s raining Players only love you when they’re playing Say, women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know You’ll know You will know Oh, you’ll know
Lyrics – Written by Lindsey Buckingham. Released in 1976
Loving you Isn’t the right thing to do How can I ever change things That I feel
If I could Maybe I’d give you my world How can I When you won’t take it from me
You can go your own way Go your own way You can call it Another lonely day You can go your own way Go your own way
Tell me why Everything turned around Packing up Shacking up is all you want to do
If I could Baby, I’d give you my world Open up Everything’s waiting for you
You can go your own way Go your own way You can call it Another lonely day You can go your own way Go your own way
You can go your own way Go your own way You can call it Another lonely day Another lonely day You can go your own way Go your own way You can call it Another lonely day
You can go your own way You can call it Another lonely day You can go your own way
But anyone who knows me, knows I like to finish on a positive note and so I chose this song performed by the Ronettes in 1964 ” The Best part of Breaking up is when you’re making up”.
Lyrics
Baby when we break up from a quarrel or a fight I can’t wait to have you back and hold you oh so tight Tell me why, I want to know oh oh Tell me why is it so oh oh
That the best part of breaking up is when you’re making up Best part of breaking up is when you’re making up But after breaking up, be sure you’re making up with me
Everytime you leave, I get those teardrops in my eyes But they seem to go away when you apologize Tell me why, I want to know oh oh Tell me why is it so oh oh
That the best part of breaking up is when you’re making up Best part of breaking up is when you’re making up But after breaking up, be sure you’re making up with me
C’mon baby, c’mon baby Don’t say maybe Well it makes no difference who was wrong Just as long as I’ll be with you
Baby I’ll be lonely til you’re back where you should be But baby I belong to you and you belong to me Tell me why, I want to know oh oh Tell me why is it so oh oh
That the best part of breaking up is when you’re making up Best part of breaking up is when you’re making up But after breaking up, be sure you’re making up with me The best part of breaking up is when you know you’re making up with me
My poor mother was clearly in no fit state to deal with the issues that had suddenly been dumped upon her. The storm knocking over Grandfather’s tree and exposing a body. The locket containing a key to a box kept locked for who knows how many years. Then finally the revelation of Great Aunt Sally’s diary. It had all been too much for Mother and she descended into tears.
I did the best thing I could do. I helped her into her bedroom, made her drink a glass of water containing her sleeping powders and put her to bed. I sat with her until her chest rose and fell in that steady rhythm of deep sleep. Her body looked so gaunt and frail. She had never been a big eater and living on her own, she clearly hadn’t been eating enough to keep her strength up. Any strength she’d had noticeably ebbed away with the shock of recent events. Her pale hair hung in wispy tendrils around her softly lined face. Her eyes were sunken. She looked more like an eighty-year-old rather than a woman in her sixties. In fact, she reminded me of Great Aunt Sally herself, who’d been eight-eight when she passed. The memory of her, reminded me of that leather-bound book I’d left in her old bedroom.
I walked slowly back down the landing to Great Aunt Sally’s bedroom and sat down upon the bed. A musty smell surrounded me as I sank into that old feather mattress. I picked up the diary. Dare I read this, knowing that it will bring me face to face with some dreadful reality? I knew I had to read on, no matter how dark the journey will be. This was a part of my family history. I prepared myself to amble through the past.
The book fell open at the front page, scrawled with those terrible words my Great Aunt had written ‘Why I killed my Sister today.’
It was clear that these words had been written in some time after the first entry below. Although it was the same hand, the fateful words had been written in a shakier less steady hand but was in clearer ink. The entries below appeared to have been written many years early. The ink was faded and it looked like it had been written in one of those scratchy old-fashioned pens.
The first date was December 25th, 1910.
I received this diary for Christmas and this is my first entry. Emma and I were so excited when we discovered Santa Claus had been. Both our stockings that we’d hung at the bottom of our bed were bulging, but Emma’s seemed to be more so than mine. I was pleased with my Christmas Orange and the walnuts. I had four but I think Emma had six walnuts but she hid two and said she’d only had four like me. We both had gifts wrapped in brightly colour paper and string. Emma’s was bigger than mine, as usual.
Well no surprise that my present was this diary, and I am quite pleased with it, but Emma’s present was much nicer. It was a wooden box carved with animals and the wood smelled so nice. I wish I had that box instead. Emma always gets the best. Just because she’s the elder by ten minutes and she has dimples and I don’t. I hate being a twin. Mother said it’s special being a twin because you always have a friend to play with, but I hate it, hate it, HATE IT.
January 30th, 1910
I am recovering in the infirmary because I fell out of our tree house. They were worried I may have been killed. I remember we were playing, Emma and I, but then as so often happened, she said something spiteful so I slapped her and we ended up fighting again. People may have thought it was an accident, but I know better. Emma pushed me. I heard the doctor talking to Mother, I have broken my legs but they will heal but the doctor said I had internal bleeding of the uterus and as such I may have issues in the future. I can’t say I understand much of the words he used but It sounds impressive. Mother came and sat with me and made a lot of fuss over me. It makes a change from Emma getting all the attention.
I flicked over some of the pages. The childish outbursts and pettiness irritated me. I hadn’t known Great Aunt Sally and my Grandmother had been twins, but I had never known my Grandmother at all. It was clear that not every day had an entry, or every week. Sometimes weeks would pass before something was recorded. As I skimmed over a couple of pages, this resulted in travelling through time by a few years, then another entry caught my eye.
August 21st, 1915.
Our first ball. When Mother had said it was time for us to attend our first summer party I was thrilled and so was Emma. We seem to have been getting on better lately and I must admit it is nice to have someone to talk to and share secrets with. Emma always seems to know just what I’m thinking. We have had new dresses made, in a light frothy lacy material. Mine has green trim around the neck, waist and hem whereas Emma’s dress has red ribbons. As we entered the room people stopped and stared at us. I must admit we looked lovely with our long hair neatly curled into ringlets. I couldn’t help but overhear Mrs Paxton say “Don’t they look adorable” as we walked past. Then spiteful Cathy Anderson said “Emma does, I don’t think green suits Sally at all.”
I would have said something back to her, Cathy with her terrible complexion! The Gall of it, but then I saw them. Theodore and Edgar Taylor. They are twins too! They are visiting from Carolina and we spent most of the evening talking together. What gentlemen and what lovely dancers.
August, 25th 1915
I have lost my heart completely. Theodore Taylor is the most handsome man I have ever met. Of course, his brother Edgar is nice too, but Theodore’s eyes are bluer and he is just a bit taller, I think.
September, 3rd 1915
The most horrible thing has happened. Theodore has asked Emma to marry him. Doesn’t he know I adore him? It was all Emma’s doing. She knew I loved him. Why did I tell her? Why? She set out to deliberately steal him from me. I will never forgive her, never, never, never.
June 2nd 1916
So today was Emma’s wedding to Theodore. I didn’t want to go, but Emma begged me to be her bridesmaid. She even shed tears. She could always turn on those tears when she wanted something. I relented in the end. I felt cold inside watching Emma walking down the aisle and Theodore standing there waiting for her. It should have been ME.
Something, at least, has come out of today. Edgar proposed to me. I was sitting outside the church and I couldn’t help shedding a little tear as Emma and my Theodore rode off in that carriage. Edgar thought I was sad to see Emma go, bless him. He actually got down on bended knee and proposed. I said I would have to think about it.
I don’t love him, but I think I will accept. He and Theodore are very close. Much closer that Emma and I will ever be.
I thought it odd that there was no mention of her own wedding day, I skimmed over the pages but I could see no mention of it whatsoever.
I thought it high time that this story I wrote a couple of years ago received another airing, particularly as the Word of the Day today is Incandescent.
This story was written in response to the following word prompts.
It had been a while since I’d been to the family homestead. It was a rambling clapperboard house that at one time housed two extended families. Now only Mother lived there all alone. Walking up the pathway I passed plant after plant that was withering and dying in that long hot summer. It had been months since we’d had any rain.
The door creaked just like it always did as I pulled it open and walked into the relative coolness of the dark hallway. It smelt of wood and beeswax. All the wooden furniture was polished to an incandescentshine. I felt a bite on my ankle. Looking down I saw a solitary ant climbing my bare leg, which I promptly squashed beneath my fingertips. The long hot dry summer had brought out a lot of ants lately. God, how I’ve prayed for rain.
“Mama, where are you? It’s me Laura” I called out, my voice echoing around the practically empty dwelling.
“Laura, is that you? I’m upstairs dear, In Aunty’s room.”
There were a lot of bedrooms upstairs that were practically untouched, except for dusting, since the previous occupants had departed. Her Great-Aunt Sally had lived in the bedroom at the very end of the landing and for the last few years of her life had rarely left it. It was still full of all her knickknacks and memorabilia.
I walked in to find my Mother sitting on the bed crying. I sat next to her and put my arm around her.
“There, there Mama. Great Aunt Sally’s been dead twenty years, why are you carrying on so?”
“No, it’s not that. There was a storm last night and it blew over that old tree, the one that your Grandfather planted not long after he bought this place.”
I still couldn’t understand why she sounded so woebegone. All this fuss about a tree. I couldn’t help feeling some scorn. It was a lovely tree, but It was only seventy years or so old, not really that old as trees went. I gave Mama another hug, but she pushed me away.
“You don’t understand. There was a body buried there, under that tree. The storm brought it to the surface. It was wrapped in a tarpaulin, but it was unrecognisable. There was a locket with it and in it was this key.”
I looked down at the small, ornate brass key in my Mothers frail old hand.
“What was the key for? It’s too small to be for a door.”
“It was the key to this box. No one could open it when she died but we didn’t think there was anything important in it. Not enough to force it open.”
I remembered the beautiful small box, inlaid with scented sandalwood, that now lay on the floor, open.
Also, on the floor, lying as if it had just fallen from my Mothers hand, was a small leather-bound book. The kind used for keeping a diary or perhaps notes and recipes in.
I reached down and picked up the book. I recognised the highly ornate handwriting from birthday cards I had received as a young child. It was Great Aunt Sally’s writing.
Yesterday my Mum came to tea, and looking out at my garden she announced “What an overgrown mess!”
My ears could not believe this terrible calumny! This attack on my green and lush sanctuary, my little recreation of Eden. Then the scales fell from my eyes and I realised that my mother had spoken the truth and I had deceived myself.
I decided to redeem myself and so today I spent some hours doing some major pruning of the garden that has really grown due to all the heavy rain intermixed with short periods of sunshine. A major chopping back was something that the garden really did require and it has left me feeling totally exhausted (but just a bit pleased with my efforts).
Well this was my attempt. Like my friend says about herself, I am not at all familiar with the genre. I never read horror books and I never watch horror films. I am scared stiff of them. I am therefore not a very good judge on whether this story I have written actually meets the requirements of being a Horror Story. Please let me know if you think it works.
Free Again
I found the map among my Aunts things. Mad Aunt Alice, she’d been cruelly called by my Father. Growing up it had just been my Father, Aunt Alice and me. Aunt Alice had looked after me tenderly, but she never spoke. My Father would order her about, shout at her and even hit her, but she never spoke.
My father always called her Mad. Said that she wasn’t ‘all there’. She’d been like that since a childhood game with an Ouija board had gone wrong. The Devil’s got her tongue and he won’t give it back. That was what my Father said. I never paid no mind to what he said though. He was drunk most of the time. Aunt Alice was always kind to me. She made me dinner and breakfast. Washed my clothes and made sure I went to school. Father went to work then came home and drank. His exercise usually involved smashing something or punching Aunt Alice. She never said a word.
Then one day Father grabbed me by the skirt and pulled me towards him. I screamed at him to let me go. Before I knew it, the Knife had appeared in Aunt Alice’s hand and my father’s head had rolled across the floor. I will never forget his eyes. They put Aunt Alice into one kind of institution and me into another.
We also have word prompts from Fandango – Terrible and Word of the Day is Controversy.
I remembered a song that came out in the 1980’s that my Mum and I would enjoy on the radio called “Breakfast in Bed”. This version was by the band UB40 and featured Chrissy Hynde (singer from the band ‘the Pretenders’).
The original song was written as a soul song by Eddie Hinton and Donnie Fritts and performed by Dusty Springfield in 1969. It interestingly contains the line “You don’t have to say you love me” which was a deliberate reference to Dusty’s huge hit song of that title. Some people would say to take a Soul song and add a reggae beat to it would be terrible but here is the controversy, UB40 did just that, and this was the version I knew best and still prefer!
Here is Dusty’s version:
and here are the lyrics:
You’ve been cryin’ Your face is a mess Come in baby You can dry the tears on my dress She’s hurt you again I can tell Oh, I know that look so well
Don’t be shy You’ve been here before Pull your shoes off, lie down And I will lock the door
And no-one has to know You’ve come here again Darling it will be Like it’s always been before Come on over here
Breakfast in bed And a kiss or three You don’t have to say you love me Breakfast in bed Nothing need be said Ain’t no need
What’s your hurry? Please don’t eat and run You can let her wait, my darling It’s been so long Since I’ve had you here You will come again Darling it will be Like it’s always been before Hey child
Breakfast in bed And a kiss or three You don’t have to say you love me Breakfast in bed Nothing need be said
Breakfast in bed And a kiss or three You don’t have to say you love me Breakfast in bed Nothing need be said, yeah You don’t have to.
And if you’d like some more controversy, well here is a link to my post of last week which is about brutality:
For those of you who know my taste in music or who have read some of my posts will glean that I like music that could be considered old-fashioned. In choosing something that meets the challenge, I decided to choose music that tackle the theme of brutal injustice.
Firstly this song, that uses a vocal technique to evoke the struggling of people working in a forced labour gang. Sam Cooke’s song – Chain Gang.
This song was released in July 1960 and was written by Sam Cooke and Charles Cook Jr.
[Verse 2] Can’t you hear them singing, mmm hoh ah I’m going home one of these days I’m going home, see my woman Whom I love so dear But meanwhile, I gotta work right here
[Chorus] Well don’t you know That’s the sound of the men Working on the chain, gang That’s the sound of the men Working on the chain, gang
[Outro] All day long they’re singing, mm hoh ah My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my work is so hard Give me water, I’m thirsty, my, my work is so hard Woah oh My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my work is so hard
Secondly I thought of another powerful song about brutal injustice – Strange Fruit performed by Billie Holliday
This song was written by Abel Meeropol and recorded by Billie Holliday in 1939.
While these songs are from the past, its a shame that what they were written about has not been consigned to history.
For various reasons, (a break away to Edinburgh and then a lot of work), I did not partake in this challenge the last couple of weeks but this week I have decided to have a go. It’ a great challenge.
The Song Lyric Sunday Challenge this week we the theme of Greet, Hey, Howdy.
Click on the link below to see Jim Adam’s post and to take part in the challenge.
My Colleague, Fandango chose a song “Hey Girl” and this made me think of another song.
I also remembered that the most polite way to introduce yourself, according to outdated etiquette books, was to say “How do you do?” and that made me think of this song by Gerry and the Pacemakers: How do you it?
Gerry and the Pacemakers – How do you do it?
Strictly, they aren’t saying How do you do? but it’s close enough and I wanted to share this great song. It was written by Mitch Murray and was a UK Hit for Gerry and the Pacemakers in April 1963.
How do you do what you do to me?
I wish I knew
If I knew how you do it to me
I'd do it to you
How do you do what you do to me?
I'm feeling blue
Wish I knew how you do it to me
But I haven't a clue
You give me a feeling in my heart
Like an arrow passin' through it
Suppose that you think you're very smart
But won't you tell me how do you do it?
How do you do what you do to me?
If I only knew
Then perhaps you'd fall for me
Like I fell for you
You give me a feeling in my heart
Like an arrow passin' through it
Suppose that you think you're very smart
But won't you tell me how do you do it?
How do you do what you do to me?
If I only knew
Then perhaps you'd fall for me
Like I fell for you
When I do it to you
And going back to Fandango’s Hey Girl. This made me think of another song by Eddie Holman, “Hey there, Lonely Girl”. This was released in 1969.
And in doing my research I discovered that this was originally released as “Hey there lonely boy” by Ruby and the Romantics in 1963!
The Lyrics were written by Earl Shuman and Leon Carr.
Hey there, lonely boy, lonely boy
Let me make your broken heart like new
Oh, my lonely boy, lonely boy
Don't you know this lonely girl loves you?
Every since she broke your heart
You seem so lost each time you pass my way
Oh, how I long to take your hand
And say "Don't cry, I'll kiss your tears away"
Hey there, lonely boy (lonely boy), lonely boy (lonely boy)
Let me make your broken heart like new
Oh, my lonely boy (lonely boy), lonely boy (lonely boy)
Don't you know this lonely girl loves you?
You think that only her two lips
Can kiss your lips and make your heart stand still
But once you're in my arms you'll see
No one can kiss your lips the way I will
Hey there, lonely boy (lonely boy), lonely boy (lonely boy)
Let me make your broken heart like new
Oh, my lonely boy (lonely boy), lonely boy (lonely boy)
Don't you know this lonely girl loves you?
Hey there, lonely boy (lonely boy),
lonely boy (lonely boy)
>Ruby> Let me make your broken heart like new
Hey there, lonely boy (lonely boy),
lonely boy (lonely boy)
Don't you know this lonely girl loves you?
Oh, my lonely boy (lonely boy), lonely boy (lonely boy)
Let me make your broken heart like new
FADE
My lonely boy (lonely boy), lonely boy
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