You built your present,

on the graveyard of your past,

and didn't flinch.

 

I hope you enjoy the lonely path,

with the ghosts stuck to your ribs,

tearing at your empty heart.

 

The past can't hurt you anymore,

it's paid you back the favour,

you're abandoned,

left with emptiness,

a soul-death.

 

The only thing worse than a broken heart,

is an empty life in an absent world;

you call it home and walk your path,

alone.