I used to hold her hand at night
Roll over in bed and take her hand in mine and think "This is love - it must be because I want to hold her hand while she sleeps"

In the evening or at night she would tell me about things that stabbed her and made her hard or even mean and I would cry inside but think "This is love - it must be because my heart breaks for her while she speaks"

One night, I was far away
And I was the one that had been stabbed and wanted to talk to her before I became hard and mean
It was too late
She was bloody gristle with nothing to offer
Not even a kind word
And I thought "This is love?"