If music be the food of love,
Make me deaf, so my heart will starve
And never suffer the torments of cupid’s arrows.
Don’t compare me to a summer’s day.
I will only drown in the storm that follows
And be blinded by the clouds of sorrow.
Nights are hardest as the tears start falling
When the memories bring in the pain.
But no thought of you can restore that loss
Nor bring the sorrows to an end.
This love is not rare, not it will ever be
For us both will find another.
I am not the moon of your life
Nor you my sun and the stars
So goodbye, my almost lover.
About the painting – “Bride of the Wind” by Oskar Kokoschka