There, have my heart for your jar.
How is your museum? How high are the ceiling and shelves?
How many jar of hearts do you have? Do they look cold or warm? Do they look dead or alive? Are the chemicals strong or weak?
You wicked soul! You came around like a friendly guide, a caring friendly mate, and a never-ending-love.
Is that what you do for a living, you hazy mind? Naïve me, I thought you meant well, only for you to slay my veins just to get my heart for your jar to update your museum.
Cold cold heart. I bet you love the smell of those chemicals that kill those hearts.
Where would you fix my heart? I bet you would be in a black rope and a long hat in order to cast that spell.
And as you close that long door, you released a sigh of relief and satisfaction. You love being you, don’t you? You savage human!
Here! Take my heart and jar it. Leave me lifeless and weak. And who do you think you are? Running around leaving scars? Collecting your jar of hearts, tearing love apart you cold cold heart. I hope karma catches up with you, ungrateful being! Nothing satisfy you, unless you cut the veins and take the heart out into a jar.