
A heart is not a prize to be worn
It's something with a conscious meant to be safe and warm
Something to be kept out in the field or locked in the safe
It resents the harsh and favors the brave
It bleeds and beats and breaks into parts
Yet there is joy when it learns to restart
Whether it withers away, or is given to another
Whether it wishes to play or settle down with a lover
A heart is a gift to be kept in a chest
Instead of broken in pieces by an ungrateful guest
The Ballads of a Heart
