A deep thought lost, I saved or buried inside.
But it resurfaced,
Like evil, coming from the dead.
It wasn't love it was blood,
It wasn't flowing but it was red

Picking up the broken pieces
He heard her speak,
A voice that had died, yet he kept dreaming about,
And traveled places to seek.

Many futile attempt, One after another, It was a jail.
A kind of punishment, rather!
What have I done

To be deserving this kind,
Her voice he could hear,
Without reaching her mind.

A miserable grind,
No solutions to find.

A pretty-desolate  forlorn feeling
That again left my heart bleeding