it’s always too late to make up for your error
must lose everything to understand what was worth
lying on cold comfort, just like a pall bearer
grieving over the lost one, with no room for no mirth.

a charming beginner of love and his interior terror
gladly goes for a queen fallen in disgrace, offers rebirth
but then the frightening guardian overcomes the soul carer
revealing all of his fear, his weakness, his dearth.

“as you make your bed so you must lie in it”
like eating unhealthy food then complain for your girth
always too late to straighten the crime you commit

from people like me, it’s maybe better be wide berth
and this dreadful wraith, then must be my fate
i would trade it for faith. But it’s always too late.