The old part of me is dead:
The part of me that loves you.

I put him to rest on a grassy hill
Where the butterflies flock to roses.

There he lies, under the tomb of a dead tree,
Steadily being feasted on by cankerworms.

He is silent, he is free,
For he has passed the door

Into a realm of calm tranquility
Where pain makes more sense

And reasons why are no longer needed
For he lives in the Kingdom of Night.

She rules there and invited him
With a kiss and a nibble on the ear.

He could not refuse her lovely black lips
But he knew not where to tread

So she shoved him down with words
Of ice and sorrow and blame.

There he lies with her through eternal night
Caught up in the death of his life:

Her, the one, the only, the Moon
That fought the Night.

That old part of me is dead now:
The part of me that loves you.

He is silent, he is sleeping,
For he has passed the door

But the ghost of myself
Still whispers his love for you

Ever more.