Small offerings, from the heart.

What is offered is given
Taken greedily by the weak
and undeserving

In a time when they needed it most,
but we are brittle and bone.

And they feel nothing

They will break your spirit
by one by one a rib
and suckle the blood from your heart
Until you too run cold

And, who aught one do trust?
When they have taken your eyes and home?
The weapons are both poison in love and war,
A little jealousy, a little lust,

Its best to be lone, than a wheel
in cycle best left untouched.

What is given is offered
And taken greedily by they
Lacking lustre and life

In these times when we need it most
We are sucked dry to bone

And together we feel nothing but alone.