He tried to talk her off the ledge 
He loved her best as he knew how 
But she was bent and turned within 
And made of grief and shattered glass 

That scraped and cut what had been hope 
And bled her slowly out and down 
The same cursed path that he’d been on 
As agents lacking pride or place 

The stories we in time concoct 
To make believe that all’s not real 
When every dream becomes a blur
And numb’s the sharpest thing 

We feel