‘Tis but again I see that love is cursed,
and nothing more than dreams of simple fools.
A poisoned wine, which cannot quench my thirst;
hope’s bitter grapes, crushed flat by garish ghouls.
Whilst there are some who tout true love as real,
I’ve found no proof to back such haughty claims.
And thus, my blackened heart, I shall conceal,
as dying embers ebb within love’s flames.
But I’ve survived alone—I’ll rise again,
to walk life’s rocky roads in solitude.
I’ll think of times of how, and where, and when,
you once were mine; and thus, in gratitude—
I’ll dream the dreams that only lovers do.
And, come the morn, I’ll wake up missing you.