A mail passed in time

You sit in your office, get a mail, that has been passed on.
You feel a pain in your chest, as if your heart was struck by a thorn.
Sunlight becomes too bright, the day seems too long.
Nostalgia has hit you my friend and you start to think upon.

The time that has passed away, the days that are gone.
When talks that started at night ended after dawn.
When 'nothing' was more, than what one could ever want.
Where worries were feeling sorry and the right could not be more wrong.
But what do about it, those days are gone and those nights are gone.

There was a guy who knew what was coming and he knew it all along.
He even tried to tell me wrote it all in a song.
Ah the cheeky bastard played an awful guitar and slept on n on.
I should call him and tell him that poem that day was so spot on.
But its of no use now, for he has gone were he truly belonged.
It was his last wish that his friends read this poem, before passing it on.