There was the music I have heard,
When you were telling things about you,
And now it's over, only pain and hurt
Are left. The emptiness I have to hark to.
We two were much alike it seemed,
You listened what I told you keenly,
But only as a slave I was esteemed,
It was too usual for you and too routinely.
Your satire is my only prize,
No music's heard when you are talking,
And as no solice found in your eyes,
Why should I place my feelings for your mocking?
The other lover might accept this treat,
With eagerness he'd put his will aside,
And as a traitor I step a way to meet
Instead of you my sick untidy pride.
I contemplate your portrait now,
The melody is only in your name,
My tender whisper is recalling how
Happy I was till I lost this game.
30th of Jan 2023, 1:51 a.m.