It was touchn,the mystrey of the knight,the killing of the lite n the reveal of the dance.no wonda he cried,no mo culd he hold.the truth had no lust,but a green eyed disgust.it was in haste,it was on the face,all writen unda the tense of truth n pretence.no mo culd mata,nt even the laughta.we av 2 nest,the last tears of the crest.the glebe had the cold that the soul once held.my love may b lost,to the last tear drop