I used to love the man who could wax poetic
Now I find him to be a dream no longer true
The idea of romance has become synthetic
I find I'm becoming a soul cynic through and through
The words of the romantic a reminding tattoo
Without out a doubt more than once burned
I rather spend my time eating a hole in my soul
Than spend one more second with him I've learned
Nothing but prettily dressed lies fall out of his hole
He can go to hell now, Now that my heart is black coal
I've lost my love of wonder and magic
My innocence lost along with my youth
I must seem to be a case quite tragic
Now drowning my pain in a bottle of vermouth
His memory dying slowly – the gospel truth.
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