How romantic would my works become
If I were gone and passed?
At least then I could say
That my works were graced
By the hands of an angel.
What is an angel?
Fundamentally, he’s just a dead little thing
Cast to the wayside.
Is that what I’ll become?
I’d have no quarrel with a fate like that,
Admittedly I would be resigned to an afterlife of contentment
In knowing my standings
With you.
Life isn’t fair,
But it never promised to be.
If I were gone and passed?
At least then I could say
That my works were graced
By the hands of an angel.
What is an angel?
Fundamentally, he’s just a dead little thing
Cast to the wayside.
Is that what I’ll become?
I’d have no quarrel with a fate like that,
Admittedly I would be resigned to an afterlife of contentment
In knowing my standings
With you.
Life isn’t fair,
But it never promised to be.