They think thee mad? I'll show thou mad, my lord.
Following dark winter's strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.
To her you're just a play thing; she'll make you out to be a king, then she'll set fire to your throne.
There's no one to mourn for a life that love stole.
But when you kiss me there's a spark, and I can't remember I'm only food to be consumed like an apple and not loved like a woman.
And everything I thought I knew - you made me trade it all for you...but, frankly, you're not worth it.
But, in the end, a kiss is just a kiss; I have no time for love, or seasoned lips.
It's better to have loved and lost than never love at all - I doubt that sorry statement every time I fall.
How envious I am that the sun may kiss your porcelain skin and forever change how the world sees you.
I mostly hope you think I miss you and in the end you hope you'll get me, but that's fantasy, untrue as you, and bitter as the hope you left me.