The most beautiful and pure rose in a garden of dancers,
Was up rooted dramatically, petals fell like tears.
Your strong somersault couldn' t hide a fragile life,
Claimed by Heaven, admired on Earth.
Growing old conveys erasing thoughts and feelings,
Seeing how your past drifts further at every awakening.
Looking for refuge in photographs is my only console,
The way of bringing you back for a spark of second.
What kills me is to know that day after day
Your delicate face is starting to fade;
Those memories threaten to disappear,
Only blurred images are still here.
After the injustice of taking you from me,
Life turned bitter, silent, only tears would scream.
Remembering melacholicly, I was lacking faith;
Whilst loneliness kept harrowing me, no longer I was safe.
Afraid of thinking, of remembering how it was;
Nothing in the world hurts more than the thought of you gone.
Knowing not even my death might help me find you;
I long for seeing my Angel, I would trade my life if at least I could.
What kills me is to know that day after day
Your delicate face is starting to fade;
Those memories threaten to disappear,
Only blurred images are still here.
What kills me is to see your shoes and maillots,
And realize I cannot barely reminisce your last dance...
Saving your life was out of my hands,
But keeping your memories has become my only purpose.
What kills me is to know I' ve tried everything I could;
Still I am here,
losing you.
