deepundergroundpoetry.com
Farewell Overture
If you never cared, let your hand ascend,
Our love's trip, now a journey's end.
On point like an index, no disguise,
But all that's left is the parting ties.
Our love, a vacation, now history,
I'm ablaze, like a liar's legacy.
No plans to retire, yet love expires,
The admiration we shared, now in pyres.
Spazzin' out, these moments won't mend,
No more passing out, no more flyers to send.
What goes around, like a chainsaw's wrath,
Caught the flap, the end of our love's path.
Racks of memories, like Kid Ink with ease,
Now they call me alone, with my cheese.
Love was a cakewalk, now just cheesecake,
A player no more, too stingy for heartbreak.
Won't lend an ear, not pretending to care,
I told you I'd marry you, but now it's a tear.
Our love buried, a face on my memory's area,
No longer original, just echoes of an era.
Lyrics that never sat well, a lyrical chair,
Paraplegic love, a tale of despair.
Call it Harry Caray, carrying a dictionary,
But our love is now an obituary.
No more eye-to-eye, just a staring problem,
Love's shaft, steering column, a monstrous emblem.
Our love, a tale now in the past,
Farewell, a symphony, ending at last.
Our love's trip, now a journey's end.
On point like an index, no disguise,
But all that's left is the parting ties.
Our love, a vacation, now history,
I'm ablaze, like a liar's legacy.
No plans to retire, yet love expires,
The admiration we shared, now in pyres.
Spazzin' out, these moments won't mend,
No more passing out, no more flyers to send.
What goes around, like a chainsaw's wrath,
Caught the flap, the end of our love's path.
Racks of memories, like Kid Ink with ease,
Now they call me alone, with my cheese.
Love was a cakewalk, now just cheesecake,
A player no more, too stingy for heartbreak.
Won't lend an ear, not pretending to care,
I told you I'd marry you, but now it's a tear.
Our love buried, a face on my memory's area,
No longer original, just echoes of an era.
Lyrics that never sat well, a lyrical chair,
Paraplegic love, a tale of despair.
Call it Harry Caray, carrying a dictionary,
But our love is now an obituary.
No more eye-to-eye, just a staring problem,
Love's shaft, steering column, a monstrous emblem.
Our love, a tale now in the past,
Farewell, a symphony, ending at last.
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