Shut Up!
Don’t sing that song to me,
The one she sang before.
Her lullaby hung on the breath of night
And each soothing note from her slender throat
Caused my soul to take flight.
I shall not listen more
To your cacophony.
Don’t sing that song to me.
Don’t play that song for me.
Your chords are filled with flaws.
Her feather-light finger and healing hand
Plucked a perfect part on my slack-strung heart,
A concert on one strand.
Your hands are more like claws
Inflicting injury.
Don’t play that song for me.
Don’t sing that song to me.
It grates upon my ear.
She lulled me to sleep with her soft refrain:
Every tone thrilled me, each rhythm filled me
With pleasurable pain.
I cannot bear to hear
Your callous parody.
Don’t sing that song to me.
Don’t sing that song to me.
That matchless melody
Was buried with her when she died—too soon!
And obscured within your desperate din
The fragments of that tune
Disturb my reverie.
Don’t sing that song to me.
Don’t sing
that song to me!