Is it not befitting to mourn what I lost,
when I never once fought to keep anything?
I was always too fragile for the fight,
So, at the first the hint of trouble, I packed up my heart
and my record collection, and
I went on my way.
Never any signs of a struggle,
yet, I reduced love, after love,
My heart lies in
ruins; a victim of my own
But a victim, nonetheless.