What lovers call romance
Whatever loves to care
Enough to hide at day
Till the night to pretend.

Too little and too late
Hearts done hesitate
Hundred lies in deads
It died still had to bare.

Much to killers a grace
To no suprise to suspect
Man in no mans land
Far the heaven to stray.

For once in life dealt
And to have to offer
Trust pays not laugh
Fair like men no less.

Fathers to be to have
love in heart mistaken
The way fooled many
More made to be a man.

Honey to cross a finger
By a monk on forehead
And tore piece of bread
Meanwhile weeping i ate.

Of love lovers are made
Nights sleep not to have
"Suits me well to suffer"
How the poor mans prays.