Just let me lie here,
Let me live with–
The heart is a fragile thing, easily broken
Like a bir–
Shit, too sad
He stands there, casting a shadow no man could overcome
Greatness is a heavy load
What next? What makes him so great?
Take my hand
Let me protect y–
Romance? Again? Ugh.
What’s worse, having no story to tell or having too many trapped inside?
Is it better to never know the depths of your soul?
Or, to know and struggle to write your soul out loud?