And the death of the star that was my love for you became the endless black hole that engulfed all my happiness.

Cheap theatre, cheap movie, that's how we begin, With patched-up dreams and secondhand skin, We take our seats in the flickering light, Hoping a broken story might still feel right.

The sound cracks, the script falls apart, But we stay, clapping with half-open hearts, The heroes stumble, the endings fray, Still we laugh and we cry and we stay.

No refunds, no rewinds, no better show, Just the slow unraveling we pretend we know, The ticket was cheap but the cost runs deep, We pay with the promises we couldn't keep.

Cheap theatre, cheap movie, our messy design, Crooked dreams projected on borrowed time, And maybe just maybe that's all we need, A cracked-up world where we still believe..

In separations, the smell of death lingers,
And in reunions, life, warmth, and solid timber.
The forest sings for the leaves of east,
And welcomes thee, then whimpers—
Of joy, what joy, what wonderful winds
That bring the breath of winter
That cling onto my lady’s breast
And promise me to bring her.