"Engine of a heart that would not start."

A twisted heart is a tangled vine
Its roots run deep, its thorns entwine
It beats with darkness and fills with woe
It longs for light, but doesn't know

Its love is twisted, suffocating
It tramples hope, creating
A web of pain that binds the soul
A black hole that won't let go

Oh twisted heart, what can be done
to heal your wounds, to lift your frown?
Perhaps it's time to cut the vines
To let the light in, the healing of time

For in the end is it really love that saves?
The twisted heart from its darkened graves?