Bye Bye Beautiful…
Wich flower is it mine to give?
In darkest hours fit for thieves?
In what dimension is it “past” for love
When only present has white wings of doves?
And fully sacred dream of me
Now it is over, or is just a lie?
I don’t remember who is fit for scream
When only wolves are now to dream…
That wildless flower is not over yet.
And maybe future comes nightly present
Only of you it may be last for long
Cause darkest flowers die to feel as fog…
