I look at you, your head tilt
And blue eyes facing the ground
A clear glaze is shining there
While I hear the tear-escaping sound
I'm staring at you; you're bleeding, I'm crying
And you slowly begin to rise
Your delicate blond hair, whipping in the wind
You know it's your fate, and will, to die.
I'll write about you until the day after forever
Then, maybe, my poor, restless hear will get better
And maybe my black eyes won't get any wetter.