When we meet,

It's like a meeting,
With a director's board,
The words are stilted,
The movements restricted,
Our eyes hardly meet,
And when they do,
All we can see is,
Love that's nearly gone.

These days, we don't yearn,
For each other's company,
And the telphone is used,
To talk to others,
Who are waiting patiently,
For us to both agree,
That all we have is,
Love that's nearly gone.

Oh, why do we pretend,
And play this farce,
Or are we both hoping
That maybe again,
The cooling embers of love,
Will burst back into flame,
And save us from admitting,
That love is nearly gone?