In the silence of our last goodbye,
Words wither, truths untold, they die.
All that\'s left, a bitter well,
Whispered echoes, \"Go to hell.\"
No scripture penned, no holy decree,
Demands my heart to bleed for thee.
No verses scribed in ink or blood,
No mandate to weather the flood.
In the void where love once dwelled,
Lies the husk of a tale misspelled.
A narrative of a bond unspun,
Under a cold and distant sun.
So take these words, harsh and stark,
Let them ignite, let them spark.
For in the end, what truth to tell,
But \"My dear lost love, go to hell.\"