Refurbished Heart

My heart was broken not just once, but many, many times,
And every time I’d pick bits up, brush dirt away and get them glued.
My aim was high with targets fine, I paid no matter was the price:
With money, status or a fame, - I was so easy to delude.

I wasn’t stupid or naive, or, let us say, may be, just may be, a bit of both,
Or may be it amused me watching how I was played around.
And may be someone was amused to see me acting Harlequin or Pierrot,
To cry at what I loose or laugh of happiness at what I found.

My heart was like a prop, a requisite,- I wore it on my sleeve
For everyone to take and to be entertained.
Go on with lies of yours and stories, whatever,- I’ll believe,
But don’t tear my heart out with what has to be said.

A play, a game or a charade, your choice: please, always count me in,
I’m happy to oblige and help to let time pass.
And my refurbished heart is cheerful and ready to begin
To count rhythm for comedy that’s due to play at once.

I’m sorry, my rhythm is a bit offbeat:
It’s because of my silly heart.
It doesn’t follow the script,
Lets the play to fall apart.

I guess some pieces were sat
not proper in their places
you know refurbished heart
will never win a race

it tried without luck
but its tick-tack
is quieter still
you can’t hear
it any more

alas

you never will.