There is no mind that will weep For the sorrowful soul, You call yourself. There is no heart that will sing To a dying man, Amoung broken shards of glass. There is no tongue, That will speak your language, One of the devil. There is no love. To ease your wounds, And heat your cold. And, there is no angel, Who will save a man, Of the such a bitter disease. (Known as heartbreak) L L