Had we a heart for the love we had shared God could have been kind and just left us a pair But maybe our senses got into the way; It had to be darkness that shadowed our days. What truly is love but a sense of its own, With no ***** to claim but a skill to be honed? Is it thought, is it heat that will soon dissipate? Is it a function of time, is it tangent to hate? As I sit, does it stand, am I strictly opposed To this thing I call love that I’ve now juxtaposed To a satanic vice, to the absence of God? Am I now nothing more than a pitiless fraud, Who claims to be worldly and knows so much more Than the man on the street and the ungodly *****, Who see life in its rawness and laugh at the child, Who lives in a bubble and makes fierce what is mild? What the babe doesn’t know is that he never can, For to live is to know, and to love: to be Man. So he who’s not lived may learn suddenly The fury of flesh and what love should be.