The pages are yellowed and torn,
Blowing silently in the wind.
The storms of yesterday have passed,
Leaving wreckage where we've been.

Was it all for naught ~~
The tears and hopes and dreams?
In solitude I face the crushing blow,
My illusion is not what it seems.

And so, good-bye, my fantasy and youth,
They've left me aged, barren and raw.
I've nothing but pages of pain and dreams,
Rustling in the after-shock of what I saw.

You standing there, a warrior against time,
Tearing down the only soul who's ever been your friend.
Building your fortress of self-hatred and blame,
Yet I stand blameless, with faithfulness as my only sin.

So mount your horse of martyrdom,
And ride away in the winds of deceit;
The maiden is a warrior, too,
With armor of virtue you cannot defeat.