Red Death (Waltz Wave)
Red...
Outside, there's too much noise
and little room for hope...
When we missed you,
we used to sing...
Nothing.
His plucked nails will still hurt...
I'm not a poet,
I'm not a melody...
Before the dawn, I always wake up to find
last night's dreams sleeping beneath my pillow...
It was only when I
rested a teacup...
Curiosity scrapes my heels,
inflaming patience...
There is something
about Winter...
You carved our names in paper -
And...
Death is something
we must all do...
is like a small fish
keen to changes...