Each time my Lady is moved to tears,
something inside of me dies.
I cannot assuage all of her fears,
'tis the reason that she cries.
I cradle my Lady close to me,
letting her feel safe and warm.
I hate seeing her in misery,
so I calm her inner storm.
My ears listen to her every word,
while my heart feels all her pain.
My Lady's woes will not go unheard,
for my heart they split in twain.
She cares not to hear of my anguish,
as from her it all does stem.
In her unconcern she does languish,
being a treacherous femme.
This shows the comfort I give to her,
against the pain that life deals.
Upon me the same she will not confer,
for my sanity she steals.
Nothing is worse than sorrow,
except perhaps disdain.
I'll be myself tomorrow,
tonight I'll feel the pain.