Amantes sunt Amentes

I'm so tired of watching the disease
clutching the cure.
Silhouetted by streetlights,
absent of happiness.
Repressing reaction,
studying what I lacked.
I know I would step down
if he could live up.
He cut into the dance
and they waltzed away,
snatching words from tongue's tip,
made obsolete.
Not spoken since memory serves,
but I'll speak of it no more.
quippe haud etiam quicquam inepte feci