It's my birthday tomorrow,
No one here could know.
I was born this [Friday]
2[4] years ago.
At 3-something tomorrow morning it'll be 24 years. I'm not dead yet. There's still time to sing my song, and wonder how it ends. I remember the tune well enough, certain parts at least. And the words, well, they come and go, but I know they're written down somewhere. And I can always listen. I've got it right here, close at hand. And I do listen. Just not enough...
(...but I whisper it in my heart.)
Let me know that you hear me.
Let me know your touch.
Let me know that you love me.
And let that be enough.