Take my love, my Lord, The King of my heart, And one to a thousand more, One, of which I wasn't a part.

What have we done, my dear? Tore it all apart in shreds so bloody, That my own eyes dare not open in fear, To see we ravaged in greed for a crown so shiny and gaudy.

Yet, it wasn't the blood that tainted my dreams, Or echoes of the haunting sceptre tugging at my seams. It was thee, dear Lord, I was left starving for. Aching for the touch, the yoke, the love that wasn't so sure.

My eyes watered from witnessing the change in thee, Gone was the generosity, replaced by a valour set free. And I -like the fool I was meant to be- urged you forward on that curse path, Thinking not once of the times 'bout to be stained in a bloody bath.

Would thee still have done't? Had thee known of the wicked twist of fate? Waltzed in the shadows of ambition, That deliberately devoured your mate?

Forgive me or curse me, Macbeth For we weren't quite the favored ones of luck. But once our eyes meet again, unite in the fiery reign, call me what you did me last-- "My Dearest Chuck"