It has been years since I started singing,
This song so long,
The truth of my heart brought to my ears ringing,
Believing in you was where I went wrong.
On the brightest night, the truest of the nights of Summer;
I find the fault of myself,
To have been taken in by your charm and glimmer,
The utter death of me.
Through shadows cast and breezes blown,
And with your awful grin,
Filled brimming with evil intents, I should have known,
That no love for me has ever there been.
Yet, still, the song of Love from these lips are sung,
With the fondest of melodies,
So that your heart might reached and my words not hung
Coldly at the feet of the Ogre.
With a now empty heart, I write of a lover scorned;
By their own lover, truly adored.
Although the child had been ample warned,
That their lover would surely grow bored
At their trivial attempts of a romance true,
Textbook driven, fueled by thoughts
Of imaginary Love was what they tried to pursue,
Ultimately their end.
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