I’ll tell you a story
Of oceans of gold,
Of valleys full of silver,
A sight to behold.

I’ll sing you a song
About the birds and the bees,
About plucking rosebuds
And climbing tall trees.

Before I knew
What a person should not know,
I was happy, so cheerful,
My mouth a little bow.

Now I know
Though I can’t really say,
No, I can’t tell you much
Without giving it away.

So I’ll tell you a tale
Of oceans gooey black,
Of valleys full of blood...
Oh, you shouldn’t look back…

And I’ll sing you a song
About a cracked open heart,
About losing your virginity,
And being forced apart...


Dena L Moore
April 3, 2004