They say the spring is coming, but
I cannot feel the sun
shining down its rays so numbing
cheering spirits one by one.
The grass is wet here on my feet,
and I hear no sweet birds sing.
This scene reflects my mood, indeed;
heavy clouds and sharp cool winds.
I try to see the positive, I do.
It just avoids me, runs and hides.
I think, if I cannot get to you,
there is nothing for me here, besides.
What is there to live for, then,
if all the world grows black?
Let holy women pray - amen.
Let me die.
Or please come back.