So here’s to the heart then.

The pure and beating one.

So full of blood

hot and pulsing.

 

And here’s to love

love and the heart

as one.

 

Debauched in its own sanguinity

or pure and true,

it is the life

and it is the death

of you.

 

Turned into a benign design,

a posy or a valentine.

 

But the true heart

it smells of iron.

 

I remember pressing my head

to your chest

and hearing your heartbeat

slow and true and strong.

And now you’re gone.

We were both tricked by your heart.

 

You were always true

but in the end

your cheating heart

betrayed you.

My sweetest love,

it betrayed you.

 

And the true heart

it smells of iron.