Now your eyes,
are pretty as the ocean, and crying whenever
it makes you feel blue. A sad tragedy, something I
myself can be too.

Uttering no words,
but all to trying to speak our very hearts.
And what does it say; what all does it bare?
The hurts of passion; so bitter sweet of pain,
all with your heart in hand. All the emotions you
hold onto, dare I say: 'you hold onto a tragic past love?'

It was painted with faith;
but not of the colours it wants be,
It was painted with love;
but as for now, how much of it can I see?
All of the eyes stories I've seen, but of their mouths
that won't tell. Casting charms of luck; but the words
to their love they even can't spell.

The enchantment all of one's former delights,
no otherwise from others in your life. I've warned you
not to trick my heart. I don't do well with any kind of magic.
But oh how I'm in love with being so tragic.

Tragically in love with you.
The tragedy of us both being so tragic in our past loves.
We're the tragedy to love.