A Series of Observations

You are no saint to me; you are just a man.

My glasses of rose, crushed at my feet, you’ll never be again what you were to me.

You are no saint to me, you liar, you cheat, you thief.

My hands you once held, now clenched into fists, will never reach for you again.

You are no saint to me; you are just a man.

My patience removed, compassion lacking, now it is I who walks away.

You are no saint to me; but my lover you once were.

You are no saint to me; you are just a man.

Did you hear me?

You are just a man.