The mountain path cuts close to the bone;
I scrape by subsisting on mud & blood.
I've not seen a face in months, I'd guess
memories trickle, they no longer flood.

Where has Eva gone?
Each day she loses her grip on my mind
take me back to her little cottage
where each face of hers mesmerized and shined

to the point where heart & hearth were so moved
they saw certain scenes in brand new ways.
They captured doomed love by the heat of their hands
and separated us till the end of all days.

Now I trod and plod my way
to hell and back on through the path,
content in a way to waste my whims on nothing
as forlorn mountains still show me their wrath.