I read and write sometimes.
Your love burns me, Fills me with passion. Your love burns me, Fills me with passion.
Fragmented memories I look upon, Wondering where my life has gone. Fragmented memories I look upon, Wondering where my life has gone.
My muse is only nature. Thousand times I write about her My muse is only nature. Thousand times I write about her
Linger not over the painful past, Harsh memories will go, if not fast. Linger not over the painful past, Harsh memories will go, if not fast.
Now, these drops make me flee. Now, these drops make me flee.
Autumn wild and winter rude! Autumn wild and winter rude!
And I lament, on the coast, wi’ the sea. And I lament, on the coast, wi’ the sea.
The sky is bright orange and red, Drowning in this ocean is the sun. The sky is bright orange and red, Drowning in this ocean is the sun.
Aren’t we all just made of stories? Aren’t we all just made of stories?
With trembling hands, the poet writes this down.” With trembling hands, the poet writes this down.”