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Description
Love is lost on those who squander it
For they find it is the fountain of youth,
A thousand givings in but a moment
Submerged in a regretless clean
Yet watched by any one-tracked king,
Whose eyes cannot focus on but the prize afront
Sure to place some limited bounty upon
In shallow fear of shady rogues
Not knowing his squire, ‘faithful’ ‘til end
Is the knife-wielding knave
Ready to stab the heart from behind
So the king thinks, his last thoughts no doubt,
He was right to fear that stranger, that rogue
And his heart closes tight, refuses to beat,
Filled with false knowledge that the fountain was his
As compulsive, sad, bittersweet sound
Comes from the people, bathed in shadow
The shady people, who the king failed to see
Because he could not turn on the light in his heart