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  Hold the time so it doesn't pass,  perhaps that way we can manage to understand who we are,  especially when we wake up under satin-made blankets,  and a ready-to-go me is no more available. It wouldn't matter how infatuated you are, in the end, they aren't coming back,  So is the end and birth of love, that mischievous thing  that sometimes we are slaves of, But don't you panic about it, even if you don't recognize it, Believe me when I say, it isn't worth it,  when it simply goes through life pecking at what it can and then we just away throw it.  See the sun over there, perhaps that's the only relief in life, What more is there to say when all around it is pervaded in lies, So don't try to convince otherwise, When you yourself have let me down, Countless times for the sake of your own crown.   Yes, we are slaves of love somehow, someway, Yet it can be smothered though not slayed, Since it seems endless And it energizes off even when it i...

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