Pray tell, where be the sun that kept me warm,
And where be your body when comes the storm?
If I, asleep and drowning in the well,
Could see the stars, I’d dream of tales they’d tell:
Of you, of me, of what we used to be.
Luna watches me sleep on currency,
On tears of the dewy eyed wish-makers.
Bed of bargains, blanket of still waters,
Drowning in you, yet desert with needing.
They see me as a drought’d man bleeding
And you a cool glass of tricky poison:
Still I came to sell my soul or my sun.
          How fitting it was you who pushed me down,
          Took your heart from me, so in this well I’ll drown.