I cannot be used,
Nor can I be loved
And both of these, fine with me.

I cannot fill the void,
Made inside this pine,
So I shall cut down the whole tree.

Make a stump
Prepare it well
And transfer up a sapling

Let this be Love
It be my faith
And let it grow from my dead body

I am going out today
To see where I can go
Maybe I won't return again,
Lord i dont even know.

Would it be a blessing or a curse
To just put down my pen?
Why do i write, I feel contrite
To never write again.

Fell for pine eyes,
Dressed in red, my sorrow,
Oh stricken down thy arms and thighs,
Never forget i'm the pine in his eyes.

I tried to write the most beautiful poem for you,
Until I realised you were the poem.

God looked upon the glory he made,
And, Lord, did he get jealous.
He formed every being in heaven,
And yet He made you the most stunning.

He's watched you grow, evolve, and change,
And He's jealous of the happiness you give me
That He couldn't.

You make the Heavens envious!
For they know their beauty
Is nothing compared
To you, oh Muse.
Oh bright shining, radiant being,
The Tears of God are shed for thee!