To think that I have loved as
The thornbirds on the vine,
Pure and sweet and passionate
And utterly sublime,

Beyond the wildest senses
Which I could never comprehend.
But such intensity comes at a price,
And my song is at an end.

The thorn in my chest, I can’t breathe;
So here I now die alone,
My soul having such a love
Beyond what could have been known.

And I would take three thorns
In my chest to feel again
The sweet intensity that filled me
Since my tragic love began.