These rocky mountains are now hers;
flowers - subtle myths of childhood...

You fall on me like a torrent
amidst the worst drought...

And in the end
when the contest is done...

Counting again - dammit:
steps, calories, lights, days...

It's a husband's job
to misconstrue his wife's tastes...

Old man still a child
rubs mist from a tram window...

Once you sang to me
as I walked between festival arenas...

Life, if you live it,
does not have to be painless...

In life he was ever oppressed
but always gave life a hard time...

Rain mists onto a moonlit asphalt path
twisting through silhouetted trunks...

Heart
broken...

Sorcerous arcs slashed the vast night
craven blades, as cruel as their light...