You said I was easy
But you took me for granted
A whisper lost in the loud darkness
A quilted shroud you chose to become
No more tears from my eyes
For a flame who snuffed herself out
You’ve got some fall in you left
Another tear to carry you West
Into your canyon of dead end dreams
Save it for your dried up streams
No more tears from these eyes
For a fairweather who threw himself South
Clay The Scribe 