The clock strikes three,
a feeble beep in the blaring silence...

Every morning,
just before dawn...

Coming in through the window,
the darkness illuminates the room...

I am a lonely grain of sand,
stuck in two goblets of glass...

There,
in the heap...

It was a blank face,
a symbol of serenity and calm...

A single silent violin
shimmering on that breezy night...

Wandering again in this paradise of pain,
howling again,crying in vain...

He woke me up in the morning,
cutting his hand on the broken glass...

The streets were deserted,
the sun was sucking my soul...

In that dark alley,
when I called out...

I sat on the silent sand,
as the water trickled below my feet...