Spent all night thinking of what you said.
Fragments of dialect floating in my head.
Now I no longer wish you were dead.
But my thoughts be sullen and full of lead.

Changing your face is quite an act.
But here is logic that still remains fact.
Do you remember when we made that pact?
It was a pinky promise to be exact.

Alas we grow old and move apart.
These feelings brood bitterly within my heart.
Maybe it's time that I finally start.
To leave my name upon the chart.