It is in a way a pure kind of love
A fool's love, tho one which asks for nothing
That cures minds of reason and self coveting
Along with any other rational tools disposed of

I crave it sometimes, I'm ashamed to say
A heart that holds another so dear
It'd beat on my chest in hopes to be nearer,
Trapped in a cage for a crime, framed by the seconds passing away

Indifference, apathy, a shoulder so cold
A normal fool's heart would immediately know
That unrequited love cares little for its throes,
But my heart reaches out for its hand to hold