Wasn't a crime of love, a custom feeling holding two places wasn't enough.
Growing tired and weary, losing hope in you dearly.
Upon a hungry heart going into starve,
as the closest meal isn't as close nearly.

A short verse grows colder than a body in a herse,
a swearing word raises concerns, and upon a curse.
And it's a familiar time I act the worse.

A haunting whisper,  turns my heart anew in a new year,
So saying goodbye to the old feels so weird,
but still wish I never knew you.
And time has past from a white hair in my beard.

So a custom please to myself, and the unhappiness towards my wealth and health.