The sky must be lovesick,
For so often she cries
On my shoulders.
So often that
The roses thrive,
For never have they
Thirsted for her tears.
And I promise
I have loved enough
To know that Love
Lusts for the oceans
Spilled from Lover's eyes.
And so, I'll take these roses
nursed by heartache,
And cut them from their roots.
So, they can understand
What it's like
To love,
To thirst.