Never doubted before about the weird emotion floating in the bottom of this heart.
Flopping emotions throught my veins, passionated heart, this heart...
Should I call him mine?
The beauty devotion naturally will make me doubt
about the wings of desire that makes me fly over my dead body.(Should I call him mine too?)
It's so strange to remind the way died...
My memory falls me not.
Maybe just another absinth glass...
Maybe just another opium dream...
And then i won't fail me to inspire the mysteries of sentiment, and angels will spread the tumultuous reflection of the stars with the rush of a storm that will make me uprise again leaving the weakness stuck in a expression of terror in a forbidden love song.
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