Your old drawl,

my damsel weep,

and you wonder why

good people leave.

The greatest fortunes

come not from regret,

but from purchase

and ability to beget.

The chains rattle

and they twist.

Knots form in bramble,

dead men kick.

There is no good thing

one should ever give up,

if not for the promise of heaven

where rose thorns prick blood.

Salvations draws a’nearer,

to that once vanished point

Stars like frozen rain

tears ache in my joints.

The flames burn so bright,

regret unconcealed,

Heaven’s sin awaits, dear

you will be fulfilled. 

Please feel me, in your new,

cry me, in your old,

and hurt me, if you will

remember good stories told.