And this is the second time I slipped, but
I want to hear you sing—just one more thing.
Wouldn't matter if you carry a lot,
The melancholic melody of spring.

Dark maze of pain—the moon bathed me in dust,
The glow I've caught is flaming in my mind.
I thought I could alter things from the past,
The series of nights that I kept inside.

O', let me be your subject when you paint,
Words for your slate, with your sweet-scented blood.
I will treasure them at heart like a saint,
Even to descend me with your teardrop.

Look how this night ends! So what shall I do?
The day you bid farewell, it changed your hue.



© Razda J

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