A path in a dim light
that I have to walk myself.
Rain falling from my lips,
the most cleanest of all.
Dissany,
esperance in isolation.
Cold hands clutching at
something that is gone.
Her,
dressed in black.
A warmth
surrounding me
when I saw her eyes
sparkling.
Zeige deinen Freunden, dass dir Fatigue von Heretoir gefällt:
Kommentare