Your words cut me worse, than thy
own blade could.
Your words leave promise of
thy Hurst, and if to lie in it I had vowed,
then without a fight, I
I did not vow my life to die, but
vowed it to thy love for thee.
Again for you, I will not cry, so
together, perhaps, we shall not be.
Despite our previous love I fear a
goodbye is due.
So, let there be a flying dove to
steal all love untrue.
If no love remains, No love left
Then I shall cry as it rains. You
though shall leave your tears un-cried.
You should, once again, leave in
the quiet with no words spoken to me.
I shall not hate thee for it
because our love wasn't meant to be.
Though, if there is love left
behind once the dove has flown on,
Then let us with love be blind. And
let my tears be gone.
So, our fate is in the wings of the
No promise of how it will