Whichever direction they followed
He always had his hand in her hand
It was sweet, innocent love directly
Under Cupid’s strict command.

A passionate affair, steered by his heart
But his head had the upper vote.
He never did wear his heart on his sleeve
Most of his feelings splashed on a note.

But he always led her by the hand
A rule that was forever inked and tied.
He held her hand tight, as best he could
right up until she died.

Her death cut him in two just like a knife
slashing through period of time
Her grave is marked with a hand printed
on a stone, his love deep within sand and lime.

He held her hand tight and he let her go
She wandered into the silent land
Lonely, cold, forever on her own
but she remembered holding his hand.