You're waving goodbye,
Soon saying hello...

I sit in grass, still wet with dew
look at clear skies, o so blue...

We met at school,
in our third year...

Why are all the things you see,
Reflections of things pure and proud...

Sound alone are empty,
Carrying but cold...

Gray walls,
A dark asylum...

The little girl,
Ran along her way...

Every time we meet,
I talk to you...

I saw a shooting star,
As I wrote this poem for you...

You look like an angel,
With skin made of snow...

When I look at you,
I see a wonderful thing...

Many a times i wondered,
If I should tell my name...