“My love’s more richer than my tongue”, by Shakespeare.


I lie awake yet another dawn and ask myself in denial

Is the one we keep telling ourselves the worst perjury of all?

Big, simpler, loudest yet silently

Without love, we fear being unhappy

We believe because we want to, lacking necessity

A punishment that stops us from presuming any other trusty

Then a voice sings to me who cannot lie of the absolute might

This is going to take a lot more than one night

Chopin Fantasie Impromptu in C-sharp minor.