1. My heart, though stout, is torn with separation's blade,
And left a prize of war, all ravaged and decayed.

2. You'll see naught there but one who weeps in crimson rain,
A frail and helpless thing that cannot be waylaid.

3. A bond drew near that kept afar my truest love -
A love that was to me the fairest of the made.

4. I feared to say farewell when friends were at my side,
But now that they have left, for their farewell I prayed.