Love is like an unsheathed sword.
When two are trying to keep it bright,
One pulls the grip,
One holds the sharp blade tight
Like it's the best reward.
It's strange,
But all can change.
You are the one with the handle.
And you will not pity your partner clenching cold steel.
Even seeing his bleeding skin, you won't feel.
Why?
Don't you remember your hands on the blade?
When there was no help, no mercy, no aid.
Don't you remember your own pain,
And your suffering in vain?
You should have to remember.
But it's like the old ember,
From the fire of the gone passion,
And your partner won't get your compassion.
