Funereal

the arts

I'd write you a song,
but I don't know the words
that ought to be stuck in your head.
I can't fathom a song
that makes you think of me
when you're lying alone in your bed.

I'd paint you a picture,
but I don't know what colours
you'd like to light up your life.
Fifty shades of green
are the colours I see
when I look into your eyes.

I'd leave you alone
because that's what you want,
but I don't think that I would survive.
Please rip out my heart,
and tear it apart,
beautiful love of mine.

I'd sing you a song,
but the tune is all wrong
in this piece that I have composed.
It'll be stuck in your head,
and you'd rather be dead
so you can have peace and repose.

I'd show you a picture,
but it's still in a frame,
hidden somewhere in my mind.
If you really want it,
it's there for you,
but I doubt it'd be easy to find.

I'd beg you to stay,
but you'd still walk away
from me and us and our life.
How cruel could you be
to get up and leave
with words that stab like a knife?