Every time we take a knee,
To make our morning prayer,
I find myself in disbelief,
Of something that’s not there.
The heart strings plucked by cupid,
Keep us walking in the dark.
Siren’s music makes men stupid;
It starts with just a simple spark.
On the morning of our lives,
We look beyond the simple truths,
To make joy return; and yet arrives,
The bleeding heart of youth.
I’m not the one with once you walked.
I’m not the same; we haven’t talked.