Translated…

He’d, Squatted Down in the Life without You

He’d, Picked up a Knife

And Careless, Gnashed Up His Own Life

not my photograph still…

And the Part that He Just Wouldn’t Admit to Himself

Is the Story that’s Already Been, Broken

That was, Forced, to Get, Pieced Back Together

In Everybody’s Confessions of the Case

So here, we have someone who’s desperately trying to forget about what happened to the love, it’d been murdered, and yet, no matter where the character turned, he was, reminded of the loved one he’d brutally murdered, and this, would be what happens, when love is confused for possessiveness, and this, is still NOWHERE N-E-A-R the vicinity of WHAT love is!