Sonntag, the Unrequited
Sondheim's 4th sonnet of unrequited love:
Oh, my love for you is like a fest'ring sore
That refuses to heal, no matter how I pore
Over the scars of our love that did once soar
Now but a memory, a distant, fading score
Your rejection, a drumbeat that I still hear
In the chambers of my heart, a constant fear
That you'll never love me, that you'll never appear
To soothe my savage breast and calm my tears
I know I'm but a fool, a lovesick knave
Who'll never learn from his mistakes or behave
But still, I'll hold on to this love, this ache
For in its pain, I find my heart's own make
And so I'll sing these sad, sweet melodies
Hoping that you'll hear them, and hear me
But alas, you won't, and I'll just be
Left with these unrequited love's symphonies
Note: This song is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions, please don't.