the lachrymose, the bleeding of my soul
for her may send my spirits off to die
i decant what i can to make her whole
and then pervade on a soft lament, i cry
what can i do when all that helplessness
insculped in her has joined me with her grief
she beckons me to honestly confess
there is no way in this to find relief
while what she senses covets her and me
from all the fortune we once held on to
i am now far too much in this debris
the scoria beneath us will imbue
our pain and never let us be in peace
until we both commit an ill release
painful words Robert..
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