I’m reading the lines of the star-crossed pair,
But the words are tangled, they cry in despair
Their feelings are fog, not fire or flame—
Yet somehow, I know I’ve felt the same.

We’ve all been Romeo once in our lives,
Dreaming of love with wide-open eyes.
We’ve all been Juliet, young and bright,
Leaping for love in the dead of night.

But now the waves have all pulled back,
And I am walking a stormy track.
No compass, no song, no spark, no sun—
The passion is drained, the dreaming done.

I flip through pages of Napoleon’s war,
And Lavoisier’s laws I can’t ignore.
Who cares for a kiss in Verona’s air?
Not me—not now—not anywhere.

Old lovers die in their final scene,
And I die with them in between.
Again and again, I play the part—
A ghost with a silent, broken heart.