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.