A lot, I have written for you,
but these lines would be the last few...

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

In a town where no one goes,
In a yard where nothing grows...

It flows on the edge of the world,
a pristine white stream of water...

It was a stone,
that's all it ever was...

It was prime time, the question did prevail,
but to utter those words, every time I failed...

As I walked home,
From a long day at work...

Imbued in the moon's silver,
I washed off the midnight's blue...

I am a sandstorm,
raging in a bottle...

A silent figure,rowed in the dark,
It had no lust for the silver moon...

It had been a drizzly day,
cloudy and aptly grey...

On the background of my darkness,
he sprinkled some drops of white...