Have the fields gone dry?
Has the land turned mellow?
Has the turn of the tides,
Made foul your bedfellow?
Has love left his mark, himself?
Or left behind a hollow shell,
That once bore; beating and kicking;
Your bright and fragile heart.
“He is not worth it” your mind echoes.
“He was worth you” goes your heart.
Your parents, they know, where lies your heart,
But they know not that it lies ripped apart,
On floorboards that creek,
And windows that speak,
From here to eternity.