There be who say,
that laughter is the beginning of heartache.
An' what shall soon become, tis misery
to take this all away...
In young beauty, love.
You will find the seed well planted for pain.
An' that I wish I could tear from the root,
and thy emtpiness gain.
For the heart that which is cold,
shall bare the winter's frost well.
An' to be without remorse,
time can only tell.
Where I shall sow flowers for the dead,
an' weep but bloody tears.
For t'is a love of anything,
that anticipates the fear.
Of losing thee, many times a life,
Have I witnessed this before.
T'is I care not,
for love anymore.