The heart is a fragile gift;
When it is broken, it can never be fully fixed,
And everytime it becomes whole again,
We cannot help but wonder when
It will fall to pieces once more.
Something precious hides in the core,
Solitude will protect its holes;
No way out unless we crawl,
Then once again we find a fault
That will turn the valleys winter cold;
Like a shadow, it haunts us. Torment
Bleeds our soul; alters the scent;
Hurts the body; controls the mind.
It forces us to cross the line
Into what is false and deceitful;
Where shallow waters drown the fool
That dared to break a heart in two.