Picture this, my friends: endless seas of crops and corn,

A small town; where had all who lived had there been born.

None had contact with outside world or others,

Changes would do much more than ruffle feathers.

"Deviance is a mortal sin," or always preached their preacher;

words that tortured children's souls were echoed by their teacher.

But such solid laws of love cannot be made,

For lovers will love, and true love can't be stayed

This is the story of two such beaus,

hearts aflame and eyes aglow.

Young Chris Bayer grew up right off Main Street
But as he grew he had to be discrete,

For little Johnny Harper loved him so,
and had since long ago.

They ventured into the forests, and played amongst the trees;
Innocent days that pass so fast, for lovers just like these.

Always were they together, for alone they were incomplete,
What joy they shared as they frolicked in those golden fields of wheat!

One night they were discovered in a tight embrace,
paramours exchanging kisses to painful memories erase.

The people of their town declared their love impure,
and set about hanging Chris, declaring it a cure.

Love can live forever, but not so little boys,
Tearful sobs caused by hateful mobs a fragile life destroys.

So by misty morning after, little Chris had spoken last:
"I love you now, will in the future, and have every day that's past."

Poor John's voice rose up in mourning, it sounded just like thunder,
for 'twas the sound of a broken heart, a spirit torn asunder.

His one love taken from him, John could not face his peers,
Instead, he withdrew into his room and refused to face his fears.

The darkness closed around him, he felt lonelier by the day,

But most painful were the daggers, and the words in which they lay!

Hatred took Chris' life, but it took also Johnny's soul,
Each day the fists of bigotry took turns taking their toll.

Without love, without friends, Johnny took his life;
Tears rolled down his cheeks as he took his mother's knife.

His parents found him dead one day alone up in his room,
He left the world one last note that lay outside his tomb:

"Thought the Church forever may my soul to Hell condemn,
I loved him anyway, despite them. Despite them."

For young Chris Bayer grew up right off Main Street
But as he grew he had to be discrete,

For little Johnny Harper loved him so,
and had since long ago.