♪ 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 ♪
♪ Underneath 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 condemned ♪
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.
W.G.
- 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 Trië, 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 clichés?
- 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.
Anyway, 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 nose.
- 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 clothes,
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?
Nah.
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, Officer.
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.
Okay.
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.
- Trië.
- I did not write.
- Um, okay.
Uh, Phil.
- You're up.
- This piece is called "Oeuvre."
Aristotle, 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, Phil.
- You what?
- I didn't understand a word of that.
- Well, I thought it was impressive, high-stakes writing.
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 conflicts
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.
Trië, 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.
Okay.
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.
And?
- 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...
helpful.
Well, it was very painful indeed.
But criticism makes one a better writer.
- Yes.
Yes, it does.
- Please excuse me. - Mm-hmm.
Hello?
Excuse me.
- I'd happily learn you some manners.
- Will you get out of the way?
- What's going on?
Everyone's 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.
Now...
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.
Henry!
- 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.
Thanks.
- 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 naïve.
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...
...Michael... 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!
Rosy.
- Henry?
- Help me, please.
- Henry?
Henry?
- Rosy, help me.
- Henry?
Henry?
- Hey.
- What is it?
Alisdair.
Zandra, is that you?
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--Someone--
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 nut.
- 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?
Nothing.
- Come on, then. Call the police.
- Let's go.
Where's Phil?
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?
Damn.
- It was the bloody cat.
Ohh.
Christ.
- 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.
No.
Come on.
- Jo, where are you?
Jo!
You all right?
- No.
No.
- 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.
Steven...
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...
Trië.
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.
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.
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!
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 ♪
♪ Underneath 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 condemned ♪
♪ 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 ♪