We first see someone, we believe them so perfect
Someone without flaws, without any defects
We flourish our heart in sweet emotions
Like a dance of fate, with impulsive motions
We give them our hearts upon silver platters
Only for them to tear it apart, shred it to tatters
Our hearts subjected to lies and deceit
They make us run through impossible feats
Destruction of the heart, is the objective of the deceiver
It is torn asunder by traitorous hands, whoever be the receiver
What did we do to deserve such pain?
Was our love for the other all in vain?
What have we to gain from love, only hurt and sorrow
Only to fume over the flames in the morrow
There is no such thing as perfection
All we can expect is another infection