He was a lovely boy,
She was pretty too
The world was entirely rainbows
With colors pink and blue
There is one problem
That they are entirely made up
They are both parts of a mind
Whose misfortunes don't ever let up
They are mere debris of drying ink
No matter how real they look
They represent the unrequited love
Of this fragile wandering spook
He never held her like that
She never clenched him close
Their story is a fantastic fantasy
Merely merry, made from artificial rose
There's no more love in the ink
Than in what you feel
The real harm is done when after "love"
It's an empty spinning reel
