I still hold on what little hope I've left of finding you but,
A grey stone like me, doesn't get a diamond like you.
I still walk the streets, where your scent lingers, in a hope of drowning myself in it but,
A grey stone like me, doesn't get a diamond like you.
I still call your blocked number, in order to hear your voice one more time before laying in my grave but,
A grey stone like me, doesn't get a diamond like you.
I write you letters in my own dairy, because my pen doesn't quiver like my lips do, when you're here. Although you're never here, because everybody knows,
A grey stone like me, doesn't get a diamond like you.
I still wear your favorite color, although I know you're not going to see me, ever.
I know I am just another one for you in this crowd. I know because,
A grey stone like me, doesn't get a diamond like you.

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-H

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