To write love on her arms,
Oh what she wouldn’t give,
To feel his touch once more,
To know there was more than the cold.
To carve lust on her thigh,
The gift she once gave,
He touched her and vanished,
Dear love, her love, the ghost.
To burn crosses on her lips,
A smile that she would give,
For each time his touched there,
So he’d know she cared.
To write love on her arms,
Oh what she wouldn’t give,
To feel his touch once more,
Before she felt the cold.
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