Heaven is incomplete without a heavenly romance.
Let a glass of wine be my present circumstance
Take what is here now, let go of a promised chance
A drumbeat is best heard from a distance.
Same hands that formed Venus and Sun
And wove the fabric that makes time run
Same hands brought us here, and when done
Will leave behind dust, as if we were none
If my coming were up to me, I’d never be born
And if my going were on my accord, I’d go with scorn
Isn’t it better that in this world, so old and worn
Never to be born, neither stay, nor be away torn?
I’d never be born, stay or leave, let it be known.