My love can only be true,
he said, as he parted my lips with tenderness.
The laurels, they can lie too.

The sunlight rained down from skies awash with dew,
As my world rejoiced, sure nothing was amiss,
For the words from his lips could only ring true.

My darling, my sweetheart, I want to marry you,
He whispered, flooding my heart with profound happiness.
The laurels, they can lie too.

The messenger dove came too late, loaded with sadness and rue,
The festivities had commenced, the lovely couple a-bliss.
For the words from his lips could only ring true.

My dress snow-white, his eyes ocean-blue,
My broken heart rose-red, riven apart with sweetness.
The laurels, they can lie too.

As Hera’s lover had been untrue, so had you,*
I said, poisoning his mouth with one swift kiss.
For the words from his lips could only ring true,
The laurels, they can lie too.