| Dead love is like real love undone With its old strings loose The puppet slacks it�s posture Giving in to the bigger hand The eventual bitter end When the end begins, it shows But the start of this, who knows? With its lovely merits come The hint that it�s undone A smell too distinct to miss Be it foul or lovely in nature It�s nature too loud to dismiss, nonetheless One who has had love may know When the familiar stages of decay Start to show |