words and music by wendy o’ sunshyne

little hearts made of glass

sitting on the window pane

a gust of fate sweeps them up

and knocks them down, upon the ground

but each little shard, they grow anew

healing with time, it’s just what they do



oh, this love, it’s not a game

it’s not a cure for loneliness.

oh, this love is a little insane.

but i don’t mind, i must confess.

we never do what we say,

we only say what we should do.

only we two can bring it together

make it all better, ‘cuz that’s what we do.


hands of time keep ticking by,

marching endlessly on little feet.

you feel its weight upon your skin,

it holds you down, you take it in.

but the passing of time, can’t be defined,

it’s arbitrary, but it’s just what we do.



words and letters come together.

sounds abound where syllables meet.

don’t forget the punctuation

and our delusions that add to confusion.

the simplest of phrases leave our tongues tied in cages

masking intention, it’s just what we do.