The saddest thing is the wandering heart,
That never retains peace or ease.
What once was sweet becomes bitter and tart,
Yet still it remains like a raging disease.
What sorrow now clothes those who walk naked,
What illness hides hearts of low life?
What once was innocent now has been taken,
Candles now guttering which once were so bright.
Who now offers up the remnants of love?
Of potential wasted and spent without thought.
Tears fall below and no one looks up,
Though the salve for this pain has already been bought.
With bloodshed like crimson and innocence like snow,
She need not keep looking down and afraid.
Though self worth is decaying and tears fall below,
The price of this pain has already been paid.