It is no mistake that our hearts are red
That when thorns went through them, they bled.
Was no mistake they were made after that fashion
For red, no doubt is the colour of passion.
And when we loved, red hearts gave their all,
And the love was full, no leaks, there were no holes,
Our hearts gave of themselves, they gave of their nature
And expected no less, to them dishonesty was obscure.
And you can't fault a heart filled,
But what happens when its hopes are killed,
When the seeming truth was a lie,
When what should have lived, had died?
After building hopes and dreams
They tumbled, burned down, replaced with eerie screams,
Tears like torrents fell, lungs filled with sorrow to the brim,
When the red heart broke, it seemed life turned grim.
But we mustn't stifle the sorrow-
Let us mourn today for we must live tomorrow,
Let our tears overrun the dams of sobriety
Let's not just move on yet our wounds hurt still,
Let us allot the healing our hearts need now,
For when we love tomorrow,
Our hearts should not love any less because of yesterday
Let them still give of their fullness,
Let their passion remain,
Let our hearts remain red with passion
When we love again tomorrow.
For love cannot be forsaken because of the past,
It's life and energy rested because of scars,
We are given to love, for we are children of love.