They asked you one more time,
to be stronger than the demons that stole you,
because nobody is going to save you,
beyond begging you to be here one more time,
even if they won’t give you a reason to stay.
They stole your heart,
dragging it from your chest,
and up your throat,
though it begged to be with you,
because there was no greater love,
there was money to be made,
from your separation and desperation.
They started writing your last goodbye,
on the back of the betrayals they walked you into,
rehearsing your funeral before you even died,
couldn’t love you when they had a chance,
making you the media’s greatest masterpiece,
blinded by your tears in Belgrade,
begging for your beautiful broken heart to be laid to rest beside you.
They kept your heart,
in a glass box,
surrounded by gold records.