Ravings of the Schizophrenic I was nine and you were eight when we first met, and you were free. It seemed, my love, that what we had was written by almighty Fate But now, you're lost and gone away to old Saint Peter's pearly gate. And now I curse the beings high for taking you away from me. When you departed for that world, of which I hope to someday see, You left me but a broken man -- still my heart is filled with hate For that cruel and bitter being who thinks it just to call this fate. With you far-gone and past my sight, how is it that our love can be? Fifteen years shortly thereafter, you appeared as but a dream. Happily, I took your hand, and with a tremble, you descended. We did walk that dreamscape scene of great oak trees and purple heather. Upon our walk, I touched your lips - your skin so tender, soft as cream. What dirges did my heart then sing, for far to soon my dream had ended. If ever I could make a wish, I'd like to dream in you forever. |