Atop the tor with ancient horn
Blows bardic spirit newly born
With magic emblazoned on their tongue
A descant begging to be sung
Through the saccharine morn

This is the song. The babes rejoice
To hear the magical ludic voice
They sway, and clap, and swing their heads
As bard goes round them with gentle treads

The music paints their passion red
Alight! For cosmic sense is said
The flame of love be theirs to behold
A treasure that can't be bartered, sold
That brings life back to the dead

You cannot break the broken, you can't live in the past, throw that memory away, you cannot let it stay, oh I wish I had the power to change every wasted hour, to knock down this growing tower under which I fearfully cower, in my ball of self regret.

             
                    I can remember:

                Tears that I have shed.

                 Lies that I have said.

                 Pain I have inflicted.

              Oh how I feel conflicted.


But know now this, for it is true, for all the things I can't undo, I'd never regret loving you.

lay dead . do not speak nor ask for   fear.

lay quiet. do not write nor tell. there    are

new shoes by the wardrobe.     at an angle.

still. do not move nor participate in  any

way.

do not breathe, nor cry. there are    new

shoes by the wardrobe,            new shoes.



sbm.