The path, the lonely path,
walking quietly upon it with an empty heart,
as the birds do sing,
and the breeze whistles through the leaves,
how uncertain the footsteps are after a broken heart,
and how fractured the mind it is,
and filled with such bitterness and such darkness,
yes, how dark it is with the light stolen from your eyes,
as the tears run away from you in distress at your thoughts,
and with your heart devoid of sparks,
and with such numbness inside you and no joy,
how heavy your footsteps seem,
as you try to move on with your life,
and the thought of love,
the thought of love it is like being awake in a terrible dream,
a terrible and unescapable ever painful dream,
as you walk lost down the path,
the lonely path to who knows where in loves aftermath,
never knowing when the path will end,
and cursing love and cursing when love did start,
amidst the shattered pieces of your heart,
as in agony you yell and scream,
and try to recover your sanity,
and you try to recover from the damage done,
but the thoughts of love,
and loves memories they haunt you,
and batter your senses,
with their machiavellian plans to torture you,
and seemingly and ferociously,
try to prolong your misery,
as you walk in a mood of utter solemnity and misery,
oh, how cruel,
how cruel the aftermath of love can be.