My chances of escapade, futile
There's nowhere else for me to hide
When love's in sight I run a mile
At worst, contemplate suicide
The grievious pain I have received
from trials and errors I've had
Has left my soul feeling bereaved
For my dead heart, beaten so bad
Amongst the mass, in public view
What's left inside, I do conceal
For I fear if the whole world knew
I shall be put through more ordeals
My faith in love, like shattered glass
Only destined to be short-lived
Onwards I run, aimless yet fast
With a wounded heart that still bleeds
Copyright © 2009 Anthony Phillips (DUNTEE)
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