Pretending to feel thy devotion, but it seems to be …
worst than worst.
To not see, what I did saw.
To not feel, what I did felt.
To sail on the sea of dry leaves.
Is it okay to fly alone?
To fly above the sea without wings?!
I just can’t find the reasons,
Why art thou hurting me?
The sorrowful rhythm of this song of agony
Is digging a hole to burry me.
