I’ll pen, with tears you tore from me,
these lines of love’s insanity.
These bitter, written rhymes I’ve cried
from savaged heart and soul inside.
Inside this shell that once was me:
the man you robbed of liberty,
of freedom, for I fell for you
when selfishly you turned the screw
on fetters for my hands and feet
(My diadems of dark defeat)
and forged in furnace, set ablaze
with passion; you composed this craze
I bear! So now I sit and stare,
alone, in dungeon of despair;
your ghost is all that’s left to blame,
for someone said, “She’s not the same;
she’s been another girl, since him;
more sociable, serene, so slim!
Sophisticated; not a kid;
she’s born again since she got rid!”
I’ll pen with pain (you put me through)
these lines, to say, in love with you
I’ll stay, and if the tide won’t turn
and Fate refuses your return,
I’ll dedicate to girl long-dead
these lines, which will remain unread.
And I shan’t seek to settle score
nor lay this sell-out at your door!