I have nothing else to say to you now.
I have nothing more to offer or give.
I have spent my heart, I have kept each vow.
You forget all and I cannot forgive.
The torture of the heart (and there is one)
Is akin to a murder by drowning;
And all that was felt and said and done
Is now a matter for blackened mourning.
Words, like gales, seem to rush past as you leave,
Feelings, however, will not leave with you;
I have lost my faith, I cannot believe,
I cannot discern just which past was true.
And so, old friend, you have prepared me well:
I doubt heaven, I’m undaunted by hell.


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