I sit in this shadow,
The beam is narrow.
Everything turned down,
the wick burnt out.
I ask you,
the beam of light,
can't you turn everything white.
The windows are closing,
the rays are going
away from me,
where I cannot see.
Everything is turning dark,
I'm lonely in the park.
Is it really where I deserve to be,
or an image,
where no one can see the real me.
