I'm looking at house with bloody windows-
the home of my mistakes.
Here I'm coming to put a one:
the worst, who ever made.
I'm looking at the lonely garden
with unwater flowers and bury dreams.
If I could draw new picture on this cover
with sun and sea, and with lovely schemes.
The steps with creaking planks
now welcome me with bad sarcasm.
In front of me: a thousand scars,
behind me: thousand...no, one broken heart... ...