The blame does not reside within your heart,My laxity of pen comes naturally,
A consequence of conscience, plus folly,
Because I chose companionship, in part.
My vow unto myself to render true
Enchained all aspiration, humbled, low.
The offspring that, like vines, arrived, I know,
Did one by one ensure that all we do
Would hence and ever serve a tangled love.
I write the checks like clockwork, pay the fine,
We mark the dates on Christmas calendars,
One day upon the next, time ever blurs.
Sometimes I catch of glimpse of what was mine
Before the fall to earth, before the ring,
Before the potion, back when we could sing.
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