Pitter-Patter
The pitter-patter flutter of a lover’s broken heart,
Like a contorted portrait painting or a Picasso piece of art.
The stream of roll’n, swollen tears on the jilted lover’s face will start,
As our spurned tragic figure faces a world now torn apart.
The completely empty prospect of a future all alone;
The world in which our broken soul violently has been thrown.
The heart that beat out songs of love, now hardened like a stone;
The King and Queen of Happiness, abdicate their royal throne.
If in time you don’t lose your mind you surely will survive;
Mouth to mouth from the next in line; your sick heart will be revived.
But be advised the smear of tears won’t be the last ones that you’ve cried;
Love that stays or goes away equally can hurt our pride.
|