I may seem so heavenly in all the things I say
The words that fly with silken wings may chase your gloom away
But I, in all, tell lies of love, for I've found not one that lasts
So I apologize to you for poems of the past
Tears fall continually into the pen with which I write my words
Manipulating romantic tendencies so I may somehow be heard
But even the most vile demon can speak words of honeydew
But all you'll find is with those words they run off to hell with you
So look at me beyond this shell and say those three words again
And if you find they are sincere, I will stay until the end
But until my scribblings on this paper turn to played-out verbs
Beware of me and of promises, for they may be only words...