Writers Retreat (2015) Movie Script

One fine day,
my love did write
Before the passing
of her light
A book for me,
a wondrous sight
The words,
they were a true delight
It told a tale
that came to be
Of an island on the sea
Where she said
she'd wait for me
the spreading tree
By the water near the shore
There she'd take
my hand in hers
And we would read
her honeyed words
And closer grow
with each page turned
But love can be
a fleeting friend
And so our story came to end
The blackened clouds,
they did portend
And so we found ourselves
Are you ready?
- Yes.
- Hi.
- Hi. And what's your name?
- Can you please
make it out to...
WOMAN, VOICE-OVER: It's so sad.
It's like everyone
can see it, but her...
but only when it's too late.
- Hi. Annabel?
Can you hear me?
- Just. Where the hell are you?
- The middle of bloody nowhere.
I'm on my way
to teach a new course.
- Christ.
Don't give anyone my details.
I'm still getting emails
from that last nutter
you sent my way.
They're all psychopaths,
and none of them can write
to save their lives.
- I thought he had something.
- Anyway, I had
Derek Payne on the phone,
and he wants to confirm
that you're ready
for next week's deadline.
- Annabel, I...
- Zandra, this is
the third time.
- I know.
- How much have you
got left to do?
- I just--
I just can't seem to find--
- Christ, it's the au pair.
I've gotta go.
If he cancels the contract,
you've only got yourself
to blame.
- What is it
with your lot and books?
- My lot?
I'm sure we're all the same.
- What's that?
Something to say, have you?
- What the hell?
- Look what happens.
- Well, don't blame me.
You weren't watching
the bloody road.
- I'm afraid,
with or without her,
we shall have to begin.
- Okay, right.
Everyone, let's start.
- Uh, Steve's not here.
- Can't wait for him either.
Um, right.
Uh, are you okay?
- I'm sorry. I just don't like
being away from the kids.
That's all.
- Oh, don't worry.
You're amongst friends.
- Thank you, Alisdair.
And thank you all for
coming to Kilton Island.
As you already will have seen,
the island itself presents
a uniquely inspiring location.
You, however, will be
marooned here by the tide
that surrounds the island
but for a few hours each day.
It is hoped that this
and other conditions here
will create an atmosphere
of fertile isolation.
To wit, one, you will have
no Internet access.
Two, we receive
no mobile service.
Three, there is a telephone
line in the office,
but I insist it is only used in
cases of emergency.
However, there is a telephone
by the rear stairs.
I encourage you
to use this opportunity
to look inside
and find the truth.
That's ridiculous.
- I must be off.
Wishing you all a good night.
- Let me get the door for you.
- Well, thank you, young man.
- Uh, that was W.G.
- What a character.
- That's one word for her.
Well, okay,
let's focus just a bit longer.
Uh, I'm guessing
it feels pretty weird
to be trapped on an island,
about to bare your souls
to complete strangers.
- I'm bricking it.
- I have to say I'm--
I'm a bit scared, too.
- Ah, it's entirely natural.
This week's all about grappling
with powerful,
unexpected emotions.
Right. Um, let's get
to know each other.
Um, you've got five minutes
to interview
another member of the group
before introducing them
to the rest of us.
- Henry writes
serial killer thrillers.
He says the genre isn't afraid
to confront
the dark side of humanity.
- Sounds really deep.
This is Jo.
She's from Manchester,
but we won't hold that
against her.
- This is Daisy. Uh, she spends
most of her time traveling,
getting ideas for her blog
and for her jewelry business.
- Uh, this is Tri,
who's from Sweden,
which is somewhere
I've never been to,
but it sounds totally amazing,
and I would really love to go.
- This is Rosy.
Uh, she admits
she hasn't any experience,
but she hopes she can be
the next J.K. Rowling.
- This is Nigel. Nigel used
to be in the Army
and served in the Falklands
before a career in recruitment.
- The boot won't open.
- This is Phil.
Uh, Phil calls himself
a modernist.
I've no idea what that is,
but he seems like a clever chap.
- Fucking coon.
- What did you say?
What did you say?
- Think you're better than folk
just 'cause you read books?
- Hey. Everything all right?
- Yeah, and it's private.
- Come on, mate. Leave out.
I'm sure whatever it is,
it don't really matter
at the end of the day, does it?
- Thanks.
- No worries.
- I'm really looking
forward to it now.
- I-I'd like to know
what commitment we're
making to artistic quality.
- We'll encourage you to take
yourself seriously as writers.
- Exactly. I didn't come here
to indulge bad writing.
Henry writes thrillers.
What are we gonna learn
from clichs?
- Sorry.
That's utterly pretentious.
- Says the guy
who writes slasher porn.
- Okay, that's--that's enough.
We're all entitled
to our opinions,
but we have to respect
one another's.
Okay, that will do.
See you tomorrow at 9:30.
And obviously Zed may hopefully
have turned up by then.
- Uh, thanks.
- No worries. I'm Steve.
- Oh.
- You doing the course, then?
- Uh, sort of. I'm Zandra.
- Zandra.
Oh, Zandra.
Fuck, yeah. I get it.
- Shouldn't you be
with the others?
- What? The meet and greet? Nah.
I don't fancy it.
long as you're all right.
- Nice of you to turn up.
- Christ.
You almost scared
the life out of me.
- Sorry. I didn't mean
to disturb you.
- Oh, it's all right.
You got me.
I'm Jo.
- Zandra.
Please, don't let me interrupt.
- Oh, no, you're all right.
Be a bit weird
reading it with you there.
I like it, though.
It's just it--
It's so sad.
- How do you mean?
- I mean,
I've only just started it,
but take the main character.
It's like everyone
can see it, but her.
- See what?
- That she's gonna let
herself fall for Joseph,
but only when it's too late.
I've never thought
of it like that.
- Oh, I'm not saying
it's obvious.
I mean, she's interesting,
because she can't see
what's right under her
- What about you?
What do you write?
- Nothing. Well, one thing.
My friend read it
and made me apply for a place.
- Almost sounds
like you came here by accident.
- Well, I'm surprised I got
a place. I applied so late.
Still, I-I'm glad I'm here.
- Well, good night, then.
- Night.
- Hello?
Oh, my God! Ahh!
- You all right?
Ah, fuck.
- How the hell did it get there?
- Come on. Let's find a spade.
I'll sort it for you.
- I got up
just before 7:00 to write.
Henry was already up.
I figured he'd gone for a walk.
- Well, his bag's still
here and most of his
so he can't have left.
- Okay, let's go back
to the others.
- Alisdair,
we have to look for him.
- No, we don't.
You know what it's like
at these things.
People get weird.
Goes with the territory.
The lad's probably gone
for a whiskey or a wank.
Either way, he'll be back
by dinnertime.
- Alisdair,
we're looking for him.
- You think something's
happened to him?
- What, Prince Harry?
Probably took one look at us
lot and threw in the towel.
Can't say I blame him.
You want a swig?
- Yeah, go on.
- Yes, that's right.
Well, of course I understand.
Thank you for your time,
I'm afraid they cannot commit
to any action for three days.
- Three days?
He could have drowned.
- He could simply have strolled
over the causeway
before the dawn tide.
- Without his jacket?
- Oh, jacket's incidental.
It's simply a case
of first-night nerves.
I'm sure you've
seen similar before.
But what do we tell the others?
- We simply tell them
the gentleman has left.
That's all they need to know,
your colleague included.
I encourage you
not to scare the horses,
not least when they've
paid so much to be stabled.
If our guests
should leave under a cloud,
I will be obliged
to refund their fees.
This would make it impossible
to pay your own.
- W.G. has called the police.
They've said that there's
no reason to be alarmed.
- But where has he gone?
- We don't know, but I'm sure
he will have reappeared
by lunchtime.
Why don't we move on?
- We're to jump straight in
with an exercise based on plot.
We want you to write
about your character
as they reach a pivotal moment
in their journey through life
and confront the world
around them.
- Tell the truth of that moment.
If you're open
to the possibilities,
you might be surprised
by what comes out.
- You have 20 minutes.
- Okay, if you could
stop writing.
Steve, why don't you start?
- Right.
The Arsenal boy comes at him,
so Danny smacks him
and puts him down.
The quiz machine is smashed,
and the glass crunches
under Danny's feet
as he leans in and whispers,
"Do not fuck with the Yids."
Danny stands up
as the pub kicks off.
"Yiddos!" Danny screams.
Then the pub door opens.
Like a Western, in Cheryl walks.
They look at each other knowing
they both want each other,
and a month later,
they're married.
- Okay.
Uh, Alisdair,
what did you think?
- I thought it was visceral,
but, uh, we also
have to ask if...
the work alienates
the audience too much.
Uh, what about you, Rosy?
- Uh, okay.
As the sun shone,
Tegan, Tia, and Tyler Turtle
were excited.
Mommy was taking them
to the zoo.
- Fuck's sake.
- Tyler Turtle asked
if they had turtles at the zoo.
"Yes," Mommy replied,
"so we better make sure
we don't get mixed up
and trapped there."
That's all I did.
Is that all right?
- Um, let's open it up
to the group.
Anyone got something
to say, or...
Z, what about you?
- Okay. I'm, uh...
not sure it's as pivotal
a moment as it could have been.
Perhaps if it focused
on the moment
one of the, uh...
little turtles
actually came to harm.
- That would be awful.
- Terrible.
- Um, moving on to Daisy.
Um, Daisy,
what have you got for us?
- Voluptuous ferns caressed her
as she pushed into the jungle.
As animal mating cries pulsed,
she remembered
Oliver's cruel rejection,
which had inspired her
to go on this adventure.
Sensual rhythms met her ears.
She spied a clearing
in the distance
where natives swelled
in a mad orgy of darkness.
- That was amazing.
- Uh, yes, uh, very emotive,
and there were
a few expositional lines,
but sensual power
really carried it.
- Thank you.
- Tri.
- I did not write.
- Um, okay.
Uh, Phil.
- You're up.
- This piece is called "Oeuvre."
who lived before the gun,
plays Beckett at chess
in the midday sun.
The furious Greek
stormed on with his queen.
McGuffin, red herring,
stop being obscene.
It's then that Samuel
grabs Chekhov's gun.
"Bang," he says,
and the Greek is done.
- A very challenging passage,
- You what?
- I didn't understand
a word of that.
- Well, I thought it was
impressive, high-stakes
Yeah, well done.
- Um, okay, Nigel, you're up.
- Yeah.
- Right.
This is an extract
from my series of novels
about the Korean War.
Now they emerged from the smoke,
a line of KPA infantrymen.
Spencer had already issued
the order to fix bayonets.
His men now countercharged and
butchered their yellow enemy
at close quarters
with bloodied steel.
- Let's hear from the group.
- I didn't understand
who was who.
- I thought it was very violent.
- Made me feel violent.
- But did you like it?
- Okay. Uh, I guess
I-it's time for lunch.
Jo, we'll start
with you next time.
- That's okay.
I didn't write much.
- What do you mean
I can't come and stay?
I am their mother.
I've told you I've put all that
in the past.
This afternoon,
we are digging deep
into our characters'
inner feelings.
- We want you to
investigate the--the
and the fears
that rage in all of us.
- And so in life,
we bury these feelings.
- Yeah. What happens
if your character
confesses the guilt
or the desire
that they waste so much
time trying to hide?
- Okay? You got 20 minutes.
Tri, what about you?
- I did not write.
- Is anything the matter?
It'd be nice
to hear something from you.
- I will write
when I have words.
I'm learning, and I'm grateful.
- Okay. Jo, on to you.
- Beth, it's me.
Listen, I'm in the shit,
so I'm leaving this message
to tell you the truth,
which is I nick stuff,
always have done.
Been having counseling
for years.
That's where I go when I say
I've got dance group,
except I've never been
to a dance group.
I'm a klepto.
I steal everything I can.
It was me who nicked your
earrings when we were camping,
and it was me who nicked
your bracelet last week.
And the rest. Sorry.
Now I've done something stupid,
and I've got to disappear,
but please call me
if you still want to talk.
Shit, I just realized you won't
even get this message,
'cause I nicked your phone.
- It's mischievous,
and there's mystery,
but perhaps it's too flippant.
What's beneath the humor?
That's the bit
I'm interested in.
Steve, on to you.
- "It's been hard.
I haven't always
been the best of men,
always fucking you off
and going out
drinking with the lads.
I'm sorry for calling you
a cripple,
leaving you on your own
all the time.
I wish I'd never met you,
and I wish
I'd never married you.
- I'm not against vernacular,
but you can take it too far.
- But isn't that why we're here?
- Sure, but, I mean,
the whole point about writing
is that some sort of alchemy
takes place.
- What the fuck does that mean?
Why am I
listening to you, anyway?
You're only here 'cause you
didn't flop enough books
to pay for your next
fucking skiing holiday.
- Steve, that's not fair.
- That's it for this afternoon.
Steve, I want a word.
- Fuck!
- So your writing--
- I finished your book.
- Oh. Right.
- I don't get it.
- What? The ending?
- It was so clean.
It's like everything seemed to
be building toward something,
some kind of statement,
but it was like
you were too afraid
to come out and say it.
Found your dad's book.
Sorry. I want some bigger world.
- "The Book of Price."
- I don't mean to sound rude,
but his book's boring.
I read a few chapters.
It's like listening
to someone who knows it all
and never lets you
get a word in.
And then there's you
writing these worthy books
with your dad
looking over your shoulder.
- Hardly. He's never even
read my work.
- It's all so serious,
so proper.
- Oh, I'm ever so sorry,
but we thought
you might like to know
the plan is
to eat our dinner earlier,
and then we were thinking
of a trip to the pub
before the tide comes in.
- Yes.
- Oh. See you there.
- Oh, is this it?
- Oh, look.
- Yeah.
- Really? That sounds good.
- I'll see you in there.
I've just gotta make a...
phone call.
- Ah, good evening, sir.
- What'll it be?
- Right.
What's everybody having?
My shout.
- Where do you think
Prince Harry got to?
- Henry?
- Bit strange
he just ran off like that.
- Phil said he left some of his
stuff in their room.
I mean, how do we know
that something
hasn't happened to him?
- Yeah, Nigel's right.
He could have drowned,
or he could be
stranded somewhere.
- The police have been called.
They will know
the correct procedure.
- You, um, don't remember me,
do you?
You wrote a report
on a manuscript of mine.
- I did?
- Yeah.
Years ago.
It was called
"On Margate Sands."
You said my work reveled
in arid intellectualism.
- I'm sorry.
Um, I only ever try to be...
Well, it was
very painful indeed.
But criticism makes one
a better writer.
- Yes.
Yes, it does.
- Please excuse me.
- Mm-hmm.
- Please excuse me.
- Mm-hmm.
Excuse me.
- I'd happily learn you
some manners.
- Will you get out of the way?
- What's going on?
waiting for you inside.
- So, Nigel,
you were in the Falklands?
- That's right. Three Para.
- Did you do any fighting?
- I did my duty.
San Carlos, Longdon, Stanley,
the whole shooting match.
- Respect, Nige.
- Oh, we were talking
about Henry.
- And?
- I mean, don't you think
we should do something?
I mean, it's gone dark,
and he's still not back.
- Look, if he's not back
by tomorrow morning,
I'll call the police,
make them do something.
- Time to drink up!
- I promise.
Tour of the island, Nige?
- Not much further now.
Nightcap, ladies?
- No, thank you.
- Come on.
The night is young
You all right?
- Put your hand out.
Hold still. You'll spill.
sorry about earlier.
Wasn't fair.
- It's okay.
You weren't being malicious.
- Shouldn't be telling you
what to do.
It's not right.
Needed that.
Both of us.
- What was that?
- There's someone out there.
- Hey.
- Who's there?
- Oh, watch your step.
- Here we are.
- These are my angels.
This is Tegan, that's Tara,
and that's little Tyler.
- It's like your turtles.
- Yeah, that's right.
I named the turtles after them.
So what about you?
Do you have any children?
- No, I do not.
If you'll excuse me,
I'm going for my walk now.
- So how many times
you read that book then, Phil?
- I've lost count.
- Ooh, must be good.
Do you think I'd like it?
- I don't think so.
- Really? What's it about?
- It's about a princely outsider
who violently disdains
bourgeois societal norms.
- Right.
No, it doesn't sound very good.
I think I might give it a miss.
- I'm gonna go
and do some writing.
- Phil.
- Oh, hi, Jo.
- Alisdair's looking for you.
He said he wanted
to discuss your writing.
- Uh...
- He's down the wall.
- I'll see what he wants.
- Christ.
- What were you doing
in Phil's room?
- Um...
- What?
- I--
- Look, I'll tell you later,
I promise, after the workshop.
- I...
- Jo?
- Talk to you later.
- Okay, people, uh,
this is our final session
before Guy Glover arrives
to, uh, talk about publishing.
- In the meantime, we're going
to do some more writing.
- Last time, we wrote
about our characters
confessing to hidden feelings.
- Now we want you to show
your characters acting on them.
- She suddenly felt exposed,
insecure, unsure.
He rose and turned
toward her, handsome and suave.
He passed,
his breath on her breast.
She knew it was him.
- On his return to the right,
Spencer had become
lost in the command...
- ...cold, Heaven, Hell.
Terror harrowed her
little by little,
below death caught,
catch, catching, cut.
- Okay. And lastly, Steve.
- I drive like it's a dream,
thoughts flying this way
and that,
guilt, loathing, relief,
each turning taking me
closer to that chair,
the wheels on it
like a sick joke,
cause it ain't
moving us nowhere.
I think of her Mum being dead,
her dad being dead,
her sister being a bitch.
As for me, I think
on the room I just left,
teenage hooker
looking at the ceiling
while I drilled her...
just looking,
waiting for it to be over.
Then there's me, fucking all
that hate out of me into her,
just shuffling into my jeans,
and walking out,
after this,
deciding I won't be back.
And both of us knowing
that I will.
- I thought it was very moving.
- Me, too.
What about you?
What did you think?
- Um, I-I thought it was
a very skillfully invented
slice of guilt.
- What do you mean, invented?
Yeah, you heard.
You look down on me
'cause I'm rough?
You lot play at the truth.
Well, there it is.
There's my truth.
- Zandra.
Z, you looked stressed.
- It's okay.
I just had the workshop
from hell. That's all.
- Shall we go in?
- Nice journey?
- So what are you looking for?
- Honesty.
It doesn't matter
if you write vampire erotica,
chick lit, or schizoid neolism.
Do it honestly,
and we have a chance.
Okay, who else has a question?
- Yeah. Is it true
publishers are less brave
than they used to be?
- What do you mean by brave?
- That you value money over art.
- You're being nave.
Some books make money.
Some don't. It doesn't matter.
I can balance one
against the other.
Okay, let's continue
this discussion after dinner.
- Daisy? May I have a second?
I, um--I loved your story.
I think that I, um...
have something
that you should read.
- If you come back to my
cabin-- -
It's just I've got
this book that it...
- Okay.
- really reminds me of your...
Please leave a message.
- I know you're there, Michael.
Bet you stood next to the phone
deciding whether to pick it up,
but it don't matter,
'cause you
can't ignore me anymore,
'cause I'm coming back.
Do you hear me?
I'm coming back to get my kids,
and you will
never see them again.
Cab service.
- I need a taxi
from Kilton Island immediately.
- We'll have to go now--
- I don't care about that.
- When can you be ready?
- Now!
- Inspiring speech.
- Who cares?
They're all talentless idiots.
- That's not fair.
- I only came to see you.
- Guy, that can't
ever happen again.
- Why not?
- Guy.
Oh, Jo.
Jo, wait!
- Henry?
- Help me, please.
- Henry?
- Rosy, help me.
- Henry?
- Hey.
- What is it?
Zandra, is that you?
Can I help?
Can I help?
- Jo! Jo, wait, please!
Christ! Guy, that was--
- Guy...
- What's happened?
Are you hurt?
- It's Guy, not--
- No. No.
- Where is Guy?
- In the workshop room.
He's been killed!
- What's all the noise about?
- She says Guy's been killed.
- Wait.
- Fuck.
- I left him. We just--
When I came back,
he was just lying there.
- We need to check this.
- I'm not going out there.
- How do we know it wasn't you?
- What?
- Oh, you sick fuck!
I saw what's on your camera!
- What are you going on about?
- I saw what's on your camera!
- You went through
my private things.
- Henry had been
missing for days.
I looked around their room.
- You thought I killed Henry?
You're a sick fucking bitch!
- I'm sick? He's got pictures
of car accidents on his camera,
dead fucking bodies!
- Is this true?
- I don't have to answer
your fucking--
- Is this true?
- I don't have to answer
your fucking--
- We've got to find Jo.
- Well, and the others,
Alisdair and Daisy, Nigel.
- No, no, no, no.
I'm not going fucking anywhere.
- You can stay here and
die, you little fucking
- Fuck off, you stupid ape!
Stop it. No, no, no.
- Are you two finished?
- No.
- We need to make contact
with the police
and get off the island.
- We're not going anywhere.
The tides are out for hours.
- We find the others,
and we get off the island.
- What the fuck was that?
- Come on, then.
Call the police.
- Let's go.
Where's Phil?
- Phil!
- Shh.
- Phil, is that you?
Oh, God.
- Oh, for fuck's sake.
- Oh, my God.
- What's that?
What the fuck is that?
- It's Nigel's stick.
- It's covered in blood.
- Oh, no.
- What do we do now?
- Stay calm.
- What do we do now?
What was that?
- It was the bloody cat.
- Fuck! You scared
the fuckin' life out of me!
- What's going on?
The lights aren't working.
- Thank God you're okay.
- Someone's killed Guy, Nigel.
- You're joking.
- No, we're not.
- What's going on?
- It's true.
And now Phil's missing.
- Come on.
- We'll go this way.
- Shh, shh, shh, shh.
- So you found his body
in the workshop room?
- Yes, after...
I came to speak to you.
- We cannot stay here.
- Jo, wait!
Oh, no. Ohh.
Come on.
- Jo, where are you?
You all right?
- No.
- Be quiet.
- Be quiet.
- Wakey, wakey.
- I hope there's a moment
before the pain kicks in
when it's all blissfully calm.
- Hello, love.
- Hello, Mother.
- Make sure you tidy up
after yourself.
- Yes, Mother.
- You poor sick fuck.
- Careful, Steven.
Do you know what threatens
to take the shine off
of all of this?
I liked you.
- Yeah.
I've definitely gone off you.
Let the girls go.
- Oh, Steven.
You think that all of this
is the action
of some random madness.
Of course you do.
Not one of you...
- was capable
of seeing my truth,
my purpose, my power,
not even our humble teacher.
Imagine the interest
in the survivor's story.
The smoke
from your charred corpses
will raise me up
to higher things.
do you see this?
- What the fuck?
- Oh, I like this one.
- Fuck you.
- Why, Steven, you seem to have
taken a bit of a knock.
Let's put something
on that for you.
Forgive me.
- Oh, Steven, my dear, dear boy.
Don't be so foolish.
- I think we'll save you
for later, shall we?
- Let the girls go.
- What about you?
- Not yet.
My time will come...
and when it does,
I will distract him.
You must...
She comes on a writing course,
but does no writing.
You coward.
- Mm.
- You okay?
- So why are you here?
- Use it to cut the rope.
- I'm sorry.
- You want to know? Okay.
I will tell you.
My daughter died two months ago.
It was in an auto accident.
Her car caught fire.
She burned to death.
I thought there might be a way
for writing to heal me.
Maybe I'd held...
the girl I'd protected and lost
reduced to dust.
- There's nothing
you can do to me.
I'm dead already,
and anything you do
is as harmless as rain.
- I see.
You sick coward.
- How's the pity now?
What's that?
Sorry. I can't hear you.
- "As harmless as rain,"
you said?
- We've got to get
out of here now.
Jo. Jo.
Jo, we're gonna get out of here.
- Which way?
- Just keep going!
- Stop! Stop.
- Why?
- Here. Here.
- What?
- I've got to...
- Steve, no!
Come on, then!
- Come on, you spaz.
Come on! Come on.
- No, I can't. I can't. My leg.
- Come on.
- No, I can't!
- Come on.
- I can't.
- Come on.
- Oh, no. No.
- That's right!
Poor, talentless imbecile
with a God complex
kills defenseless girl.
How many, Nigel?
How many has it been?
How many third-rate novels?
How many rejection letters?
How many wasted hours?
You're convinced
you're a genius,
just like every other poor sot
who thinks
they got a book in them,
but the truth is
you're a failure on the page,
and you're so stupid,
you can't even see it!
- As he crushed her
windpipe with his thumbs,
she realized the trap had been
set from the very beginning.
She was nothing more than bait,
a worm dying on a hook.
- For the love of God,
won't you ever die?
No. No. No. No.
No. No.
Please, please!
Please, please, please.
No! No!
Yes. Um, sorry.
What did you say your name was?
- One fine day,
my love did write
Before the passing
of her light
A book for me,
a wondrous sight
The words,
they were a true delight
It told a tale
that came to be
Of an island on the sea
Where she said
she'd wait for me
the spreading tree
By the water near the shore
There she'd take
my hand in hers
And we would read
her honeyed words
And closer grow
with each page turned
But love can be
a fleeting friend
And so our story came to end
The blackened clouds,
they did portend
And so we found ourselves
We cut the shoe
to fit the foot
The blood did flow
down through the brook
The waters,
my true love they took
And all I have now
is the book