Happiness in not meant to break and bend.
It is a lovely thing that is difficult to mend
And all lovely things are ruined in the end.
Like a broken angel tumbling down to the ground,
Crippled as the pain echoes and resounds.
Lost, so lost, and never found.
Like butterflies with burning wings,
Like slit-throated birds trying to sing,
Ruined like all lovely things.