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I think that life is not only this touchable, fugitive |
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Which, though so beautyfull, passes away so quickly |
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You used to stand behind me, I felt warm touch, heat, passion |
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I looked back to embrace you |
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And I saw hot purple, garden in bloom |
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Woman with a secret flower in hair |
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Every day with her was a secret unknown for me |
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And when I saw her scarlet flower in her hair |
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And a raven in the sky |
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I thought the raven is only a bad sign |
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And when you danced among the flowers, high grass, bloomy |
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meadows |
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I rised to the sky to blow away stormy clouds |
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Watching her warming up in imagined flames |
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I saw as she flew up in the night - as a bird |
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I fly up into the abbys of the air |
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And I hear the voice of the woman, so warm, so close, so painful |
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I dream you stand behind me, I feel warm touch, heat, passion |
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I look back to embrace you and I see |
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Icy blackness, deadly nothing |
