She turns to leave you to fate,
Unwary to walk down the dusty path:
The path of hate and revulsion.
Is it her own choice to loathe you,
Or did her god tell her to?

Your broken heart stumbles along behind her,
Reaching out with your bloody soul,
You yearn to pluck her from her world 
And place her gently into your own.
Sometimes, there are things you wish you’d never shown.

You’re regretting telling her you felt this way,
And though there is no way to know for certain,
You are sure you shall never again gaze into her eyes.
She didn’t know that you were gay,
And it probably should have stayed that way.