It's no wonder that I cannot love,
I've not been loved myself
And in the hour of misery
No one thought or cared for me.
I sit here, tearful
Briny-eyed... How long I've been;
Nought but a chamber...repository for my heart
Which to this day lies empty and untouched.
No wonder why I cannot care
You see, I lack the heart to spare...
One that grows by being loved,
It's no longer than the tear of a dove.