Desiring a person, oh, what a plight,

Behind a curtain, I wait like a peasant.

Incessant passion keeps me up at night,

For eyes of blue, their depths hold a lesson.

With a voice so broken, they’ve stolen my breath,

Yet the weight of this longing feels like a curse.

I’ll rise above this, embrace the sweet death,

And find my own peace, for better or worse.