In every drop of tone and illness
Of the past, and the future
You know, my heart has been broken
But I love her more than her stories —
more than the secrets she held within
And when I am alone,
Not as others were — I have heard —
within the skies above a secret communing,
None so memorial than as of her past,
And of her future
I will let it be buried, and fall apart,
I will let it be hanged over,
And let the mystery binds me
Because In every depth of loneliness—
of restless nights
You know, when my heart had been broken
I could not love her more than she is now
Wherever she maybe—
Lies deep in the earth or soaring amid the stars
More than her past — more...