All my life I was half a heart away possessed of the illusion I was happy that way,

Years past by, hair turned to gray, step some slower, but it seemed OK,

Something lacking I sensed within, habitual isolation kept it buried within,

Why this walking dead man I, this heart beginning to decay and die,

Alas the answer did appear in a form so beautiful, a love most dear,

Never again have I been half a heart away, since that moment divine, my wife came my way.