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It was Sunday last winter I saw you
you told me you're drowning in dreams
We were sipping some coffee talking 'bout freedom
that some time ago left us both.

Now I'm standing beside you hearing your laughter
is whispering melancholy

In spring we were talking walking illusions
still failed to get rid of our pain
Your needles, my pills were just straightening the trills
but the longing had stayed in our hearts

Now I'm standing beside you feeling the fire
that burns you, that keeps you alive

Today when I phoned you, you tried to sound cheerful,
I knew we will never be pleased
with the world and his brother,
ourselves and each other
like Jonathan Seagull we're aiming the skies

Now I'm standing beside you hearing your laughter
is whispering melancholy
Now I'm standing beside you feeling the fire
that burns you, that keeps you alive

Sounds kind of song-like. Is it a song?

It is a song, though I don't have a melody for it yet.

Itdoes not need a tune, it is lovely as it is.

This is a beautiful poem/song, Anyango.
Wistful, yet with a sense of hope.