Enough to be written,
Enough to be said.
Is it all gone,
Now that it has gone to your head.
This passing phase which you call true love,
Is nothing but smoke and mirrors,
A blind spot in the heart.
If you go to fast and fly to high,
It'll hurt even worse when you fall from the sky.
I don't want to destroy the happiness that you hold,
But the fear I have is much too bold.