of love’s cruel folly I may sing
the dove of hope has taken wing
I give my heart, my dreams, my all
and if I rise, again I fall

I wither in the brightest light
a starling not of grace and fire
but merely made of flesh and bone
who lacks the heart to dance alone

abandoned by the hand I crave
I seek the solace of the grave
then voices from a place unknown
echo cries that were my own

they gather near, a shimmering host
lovers betrayed, and each a ghost
they hear my cry and bear my shame
the spectral ones who know my name