To love someone enough to count the ways,
and to compare your love to summer’s days.
A love where parting is a sorrow,
a love so blind it can’t be borrowed.
It is true that all you need is love,
a love that lifts you up above.
Well, this love is such a lie,
because to love another-you’d no longer die.
Love like this has gone away,
faded with the sunset’s rays.
Never to be seen again,
I guess to love like this must be a sin.
Romance turns into a web of lies,
that blows away with Mother Nature’s sighs.
Chilvery died a gigantic death,
that manner was gone in a single breath.
Yes, romance has dispaeared,
without an eyebeing teared.