If This is Love, Then I Want No Part of it

If your pain could paint the smiles
Travel the empty miles,tell the story for a while
Stained with blood from the flood of the stupid love
Kill off the doves in the park above
With one shotgun blast, starving fast in the past
Never wanting to be last in the shaft
Of a gun, bringing down the one of the son of which
You could never be, drowning hard in this sea
Of reflecting personality.
If love can be the hurt that would lurk
Beneath the dirt covering the checkered shirt
The one the ghost of my dreams drifting in the seams
Full of times, filled with lies, caught by spies
O such empty times.
Such sweet sorrow this blood could borrow until tomorrow
Let it follow the footsteps of the death in stealth
Searching only for wealth, descending from health
Cleaning it's wounds with three silver spoons
Singing the tune of a sad lonely loon
Pity the buffoon!
The blush on it's cheeks
Smile because it is weak, call it a freak!
Let it know it's insecure, then it'll know for sure
That it cannot lure
It'll drown on the shore as it forgets more and more
Of the lives it has changed and torn
Be it worn, down to it's form.
If life was the truth of the youth
Could we handle? Could we deal?
Would we steal, or even feel
The pity from the still behind the wheel?
If this is love, the confused dove from the dark scar above
The dank seas below and the future of sorrow
Then I want no part of it