Romance is insecurity,
since you refuse to take the blame.
When you see through the spark to where it ends,
and yet you hate to break your own heart -
so how will you take care of another?
I haven’t even sent a smile,
but I wonder – If I can keep that heart in my jar.

Since you’re so emotionally confused,
and you don’t understand how half a heart works –
what’s going to happen if you hand over your own
proportionally?
If that fraction of a heart is returned with bruises,
will it fit the same?

Romance is insecurity
not unless I have your heart in my jar,
on my shelf,
locked with the key I swallow.

It’s against moral, the life I swore to live, for my children
but it is desire, oh, hearts, please ask for less
from us, mortal men – not eternity, please.
So I’ll let them go, if I had ever loved them
or so I will tell the world,
but I can never – and yet you refuse to hurt them.

Romance is insecurity,
Will we ever love?