In the days of foretold myths and froward dreams,
I hoped that I’d find love in you,
A love, rich and hot,
To make me strong,
Ground my will, and keep my heart from growing cold
In the wind.
Oh, how I did dream of this,
That our love would curb my fancies still,
And disappointments would last just a moment
In the face of our love.
But those dreams grew rot like sickly trees,
Served only to disillusion me.
I suffered the price to wake up,
To see my hopes in ruin on the floor,
Dreams dashed like smashed pumpkins deplored,
Like martyrs with no heaven in sight.
I was moved, yet I moved and moved along;
And, now your love springs at my door,
A new flower, strange, regretful in hue.
Your love hushes pass me while I sleep,
A wave crashing on a distant shore;
If you only knew how I much weep
Recalling the dawn when you were gone,
But I cannot come back to you now.