I’ve whittled time to its sharpest edge, And cut myself to the bone, I’ve seen the scars from where you’ve bled, It’s no wonder I’m alone. I’ve felt the sting of anger’s vent, That I never meant to share, You’ve turned, you’ve cried, you’ve walked away, I guess it’s only fair. If you could see me now my dear, I would be your destiny, Instead you’re blind with memories, So you waste the best of me. There is no hand to reach for mine, No subtle, loving touch, Instead there is just bitterness, As if loving is too much. I bid you dear to set me free, And I will bid you well, For if you cannot love me now, I’d rather walk in Hell.