A Spitlled Life

This ain't a ballad, ain't a poem

Aint the story of some noble lovestruck in Rome

It is the feeling of the young voice

Living deadly was her only choice

Burnt in the funeral pyre

'er death was humanities utmost desire

Though in worst of her times

She retorted me with best of her smiles

I remember how I used to hug her tight

Her love boosted me up perpetually, be it the devils night

She spellbound me -N- the delicate lullabies she sang

Oh! How enchantingly the Ddd...The doorbell of my personality she rang

How early did I grow young?

How early did she grow old?

All 'er dreams 'er emotions 'er ambitions for me she sold

How I wish could give her clay back

Yet again to be mold.