Following dark winter’s strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.

There’s no one to mourn for a life that love stole.

How envious I am that the sun may kiss your porcelain skin and forever change how the world sees you.

And everything I thought I knew – you made me trade it all for you…but, frankly, you’re not worth it.

But when you kiss me there’s a spark, and I can’t remember I’m only food to be consumed like an apple and not loved like a woman.

I mostly hope you think I miss you and in the end you hope you’ll get me, but that’s fantasy, untrue as you, and bitter as the hope you left me.

It’s better to have loved and lost than never love at all – I doubt that sorry statement every time I fall.

They think thee mad? I’ll show thou mad, my lord.

But, in the end, a kiss is just a kiss; I have no time for love, or seasoned lips.

For if our bodies aren’t our own,And justice isn’t ours,And our love is just a sin,And voices by the peopleAre no longer for the people,What have we left to lose?

To her you’re just a play thing; she’ll make you out to be a king, then she’ll set fire to your throne.