Love’s dead.
Love’s dead.
I’ll say it again.
I’ll sing it from the rooftop
'Till these old bones stop breathing.

I’ll take a knife to
My pulmonary arteries and watch
My undeserving heart lose its ruby-colored dressings.
Before I let love
Fool me again
With its deceptive tactics.  

Am I a product of my environment?
Or do I just
Lack the basic capacity
To understand love’s cruel semantics?

Only time will tell what becomes
Of this defective love
That plagues my soul.