When her finger tips run on his neck,
An oblivion wakes up in his skin.
Through the cold wind sweeping in from the window
Questions come alive,
and they're silent -
Her eyes round and fixed;
his eyes closed;
Her left hand on his chest,
and his fragile breath of guilt.
Faded colors cling to the window-glass
Oh, witness to their tainted love.
Memories, where have they gone -
Could they live on the lies anymore?
May be there is something more left
Life is just an excuse now,
Will he wake up, or sleep deeper?
