The curtains are about to rise
They want me on the stage
But I am here staring at my phone
Waiting for your message
The show ends with a million claps
The stage turns dark as the curtains fall
I sit in the corner, with the phone in my hand
Waiting for your call
Autographs and photographs they want
The fans have waited all night
At the cheering crowd I stare
But you are so much out of sight
Twenty two messages next morning
But not a single one from you I see
Why are you so hard to talk to?
And why does that matter to me?