You didn't have bread.

I tore mine in half.

You didn't have a roof.

I slept without one.

You didn't have a penny.

I gave you a dime.

You didn't have a bed.

Or a pillow or a blanket.

You didn't have love.

I poured out a bucketful.

You didn't have memories.

I made some for you.

You didn't have a smile

I pulled the corners up.

You didn't have a life.

I shared mine with you.

You got used to it.

And so did I.

And one day, we both realised-

You didn't have a heart.

And you raised the hammer.