As the day equals the night, as the clouds crowd the sky, leaves starting to die turning colors into plain shades of survive.
The world is changing: my miracle.
Flowers whiter in the Nyson meadow, even the most glorious and fragrant of it all can’t escape its fate.
I was fooled too, into thinking that such beauty can remain unviolated.
Naïve girls will always try to change the inevitable written into causality, and they will always fail: love is not love if its shows like jail.
The earth starved dry, the devotion of a mother who couldn’t survive, deprived of her child.
A black dress and a crown, a ghostly land around, an abducted queen, a girl deprived of her dreams.
Who am I now? Who am I now?
Phantoms can’t quite placate the storm in my heart, not like his burning touch did.
Echoes of my voice bouncing around, like in a cave where the winds spilt the rock down.
I didn’t choose to rule this town, but I had to submit to my fall down.
Once the juice hit my tongue, sweet and sour, bittersweet taste. Blood of the fruit was my wine, the altar where I sealed my fate.
I had to return here, where all the faces of the people that I know disappear, keeping the world safe, spinning around while the weather changes.
But he is there, waiting for me.
The warmth of the sun must come with me, while I approach my spouse, leaving September in the cold. It’s only six months in a year, I disappear.
When I descend to the underworld. The autumn must come.
