Nnysknees

 The man in the window, Through headsets he hears a crescendo. In the window every night, From dusk until morning bright. He stares at his own personal light. A young woman it would appear, His presence she did not hear. Stirring in the night, The man held on tight Staring at the stars, The man bore many scars. Hideing them away, Saving memorys of the shake up for another day. A young woman it would appear, The man just to her rear. A crescendo he could hear, Through eminent death he musters the breath. "How beautiful you are my dear, But we really should be leaving here." A whisper the woman heard not above a breath. " Would you like