Just now I make out as
words could hurt and
it doesn't matter who utter is you…
All I want is to feel
the old wounds bleed, stained by…
If only I had been able to be left,
I don't look for my happiness in yours, now.
If your eyes could stop me
I, maybe, would stop
to forget everytime you embraced me
defeated…
Why should I take care of your blood,
as I know you would?
When all will be yellow
I'll still smell that odour, sad like
the memory of our illusion and
cold like the end is and
it'll be too late to look in me
for your happiness.
If only you had been able to be left,
you don't look for your happiness in mine now.