He ripped out my insides, as he inspected my soul, Wringing out my heart as he stole and stole.
The pool of loves tears, squelched around his feet. And why didn't I run? Because - oh, he just smelled so sweet.
But now here I stand, fated finally to depart, Rendered to forfeit and cloaked in conceit. Trudging through tormented puddles questioning if I'd ever been complete.
Here I am quick, to envisage an image that suffocates my intuition to care, When it's clear that fondness has grown cruel and marred beyond repair.
He was the Hobgoblin who tore me apart, Who'd dismissed my devotion right from the start, And left me clambering to collect the pieces of my broken heart.
It was the Hobgoblin who scarred my spirit and stole my soul. And why did I let him? I hear an onlooker remark... Because oh, how I loved him, - - for that moment in the dark.