So I leave love,
like a lonesome banner
blowing in the wind,
after some tragic battle,
bloodied and tattered.
It means nothing,
because those who fight for it are gone.
It means nothing,
Because it's no longer needed,
It means nothing,
because it isn't real,
because a truer word for love is pain,
Ha! No, I could never do that,
I'm not strong enough to really do that,
so I sit and I wait
and I rage and I hate,
and maybe someday someone will come and they will see,
what truly has become of me,
they'll stay and we'll love and we'll cherish each other,
together we'll conquer and never leave for another,
forever turning to face new threats,
finding happiness like fishermen with overflowing nets,
but probably not.
For I haven't left love,
love has left me.