Youthful passions strike a silent nerve,
All the hearts I yearned for are now gone or dead.
Not caught up in the mire where moths decay,
But enclosed in brick walls, with promises bound by sacred rings where many now stay.
And now, I slowly play back our fondest memories on shadowy screens,
Trying to understand if I mistakenly skipped any predestined scene.
For I gave everything I had and never played another script,
What else do women want, when you give them everything?