O empty vessel, cold and glass, you hold the phantom solace he craves,
A bitter nectar, a fleeting pass, that drowns the yearning love he saves.
He drinks, and in your depths he sees,
A mirror warped, reflecting pain,
A hollow shell, a chilling breeze,
That whispers he's alone again.
My heart, a fragile, bleeding dove,
Beats against the cage of his despair,
He seeks the solace of your love,
A love that I can never share.
My hands, they reach out, yearning, frail,
To pull him from your chilling hold,
But he retreats, his eyes turn pale,
A story of a love...