The last he spoke he said it all
he said your back was to the wall.
and far from being her best friend
a man who'd rather see it end

You just can't argue
with his truth
it's just his way, for in his youth
He dreamed of places
make-pretend
big open spaces
where he'd spend
In long embraces
hours on end
through fields chasing closest friend.
but that's not how
it's gonna go
he won't reaping what you sow.

Born at night
but not last night
I see the problem with his plight
He wants to make
the pieces fit
complete the scene his mind has writ
but forcing love
to take it's place
to glue the pieces down, a waste
just take a picture
make it last
'cause that one will be fading fast
Let her go
and shut the door
Sow true love and reap far more.

the last we spoke
I said it all
my tendency to blame the fall
and all the angst
scorned love could spare
on fires of Hell, which can't compare
how well I argue
with the truth
it's been that way since troubled youth

I dreamed of forests
not pretend
of wooded hollows with my friend
where trees grew tall
but wind could bend
where fires could rage but love would send
the rain which hastens
souls to mend
that's not our story, so, The End.