No instrument could torture
More than memories of their room
He cursed all thought
Under blankets that once held her
Because they had violently fought
Within the darkness of his gloom

No half pint would do
For a man who talks to himself
“I know!” he yelled
“Don’t tell me what is true
It was by my hand she was felled
Her love didn’t die by itself”

“I can’t really sing”
Said the sad man sadly
“But if only I could (!)
Words that ring
From instruments of wood
Would always love her madly!”

The staggering symphony
Sounds that mocked romance
He wept hoping the morning dew
Would awaken her sympathy
But the answer he already knew
Her heart had given it's last chance