It was a freezing winter on Sunday
When frost and ice reigned upon this world.
It was a morning, at the dawn of day
And a young family was blessed with a girl.
A son was wanted. Yet he didn't come. ...
Give me the ropes made of hundred wings of a butterflies and doves,
blind me with a silk thunder
Bind them on my wrists, a living cage,
leave me where we first met, right next to the waterfall of Vexorious
under pale moon light ...
Wake up and look back to the old attic days, full with memories but not talking about anything present.
Get out of bed. Drink coffee like my dark days. Going over and over again in this unreal world, calling themselves 'Warcraft', which looks as a little relief from the dull monotory of daily life.