My gentle
What have you left to say?
We've talked from dusk, til dawn
And back again
And surely the worst of the talking's done.

My beautiful
What is there left to do?
We've smoked and drunk the whole
Place dry again
I know that we weren't drinking for fun

My fragile
We'll find ourselves once more
We've fought and made up
Once again
And now I don't mind the heat of the sun

As the olive branch falls from your touch, to my hand
And I hear the children playing in the street
I know I'd fight and die for you
Because you're one of my own

And nothing more melodramatic than that.