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A kiss on the forehead Is a gesture of betrayal It's not a kiss of love Filled with joy and humor.  
When the heart is unaware Of the hurting whimpers of despair The nasty wails don't come out loud But manage to get suppressed in a shroud  
What gives? What takes? What mends? What breaks? What heals? What hurts? What strips? What girts? What never dies? What lives on? What tells lies? What are our songs?
A young man with many dreams, But lacking the courage to pursue. It's all so hopeless, it seems. Whatever should he do?   The world laughs and mocks him, Calls him revolting names.
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