I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,–
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Pieces I am, pieces
To break someone’s heart, is murder in itself
You’ve murdered me and I am spent
The police would not know, they came by and went
They wouldn’t know, no one could tell
No one heard the cries, screams or yell
No evidence they can find to show you’re guilty
Because they look at me and say I’m fine and healthy
No stab wounds to show
No blood stains in the dark that glow
No bullet hole, no gun, no weapon at all
Because the way you murdered me, was to make me fall
I am now without a heart
And I can only hope you wouldn’t tear it apart
Because whether you admit or not
You are guilty for making me like you a lot