The beauty that lives in memories grave, Do die quite often digging our sorrows. Strange is our mind which forgets what life gave, Lighting our way for tomorrows.
The world around that knocks our inner door, Persuades our mind to take away our pride. But our mind is a mere beggar so poor, Begging love in a world where hearts divide.
Little do we get to gain our glory, Little is the world where no love is shared. Our life is often a made up story, Where our mightiest God and a few cared.
So be the fruit of our passionate mind, As a suitor of love, gentle and kind.
