Treasure Island

Steve Woodward

(September 1986 / Liverpool - UK)

Romance Is Dead


Oh woe they all cried, let more mourners come
Hush each of the winds and put out the sun
Go now, wear black, retire early to bed
There is no hope now that romance is dead.

Hear motors drawl out funereal hums
Nowhere to hide and not one place to run
Watch as the lovers wail and then depart
Say how their romance has been torn apart.

Silence the bells, take the children inside
Stop the clocks and take it all in your stride
Stamp on the flowers and crush every bud
Now romance lies beneath 6 feet of mud.

So go close your eyes and then pause for breath
As romance has finally stopped for death.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Edited: Thursday, June 12, 2014

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Topic(s): satire

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