A wave of tears gradually carries away the tides of night
Alongside the river that weeps in its current plight
Unheard songs play, to the dead man who loves to sing
A dead silent night, for two lovers to bury the hatchet
In the tomb of being dead asleep in their shared beds-
Waiting for what falsehoods all sweet dreams bring

As the rhyme for a kiss is hiss; the cobra that loudly speaks,
She purrs and catwalks the runway- while her love is expensive
But we pay for it all, as the clock writes out a free verse

Filling poems to the taste of love, for the apple of my eye
A taste so bitter;- with a snake inside that bit my tongue
In a sole of time, the heart breaks- as roses tend to be forgotten
And unfortunately, the apple to my love had gone rotten.