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Description
Searching in the vanity garden
you chose the wrong flower,
Bittersweet scent of a ripe blue rose
Slowly lulls me into sleep,
Leaving the shadows of my worries
wander on the walls in solitude.

I listen to recordings of your voice,
long time dead:
“Remember, darling, you are not alone.
Right now, at this very moment,
someone else is sharing your pain with you.
One ache for two.
Different circumstances,
But hurting all the same.
The sinister unison of suffering.
Between me and you. “

Living dead is the reflection in the mirror,
My eyes, but not my soul behind.
My soul, a tiny moth,
flies to the ruby light radiating from your eyes.
And gets burned.
Not your fault. We share the eyes.

The moth seeks death as it flies between my feet,
Bloody pointe shoes,
We waltz the dance of the dead.
Hitting back against the wall,
To kill the shadow,
To break free.
You step on the moth and crush it,
Was it the freedom I desired?

My endymion, your eyes ooze melted rubies,
You never cry, so why cry now?
The moth is dead, the mirror is broken.
Tears won’t repair the fragile things.
Tears won’t take back the assaults.

Devil never cries. So don´t you cry!
Devil laughs to the scream of death and pain.
And I keep dancing,
to the sound of the melody of the damned.
Devil waltzes with me,
till my death tears us apart.

Dancing until dawn.
The rose refusing to bloom.
The moon killed the sun.

You are the thorn in my heart,
a grain in my eye.
I try to study your face,
Like Da Vinci would study Salai´s.
The silhouette of illusion,
a spider veil covers your essence.
Like a water without a glass ,
your soul is shapeless.

But you cannot escape me this time.
Ignoring the warnings,
sung by the sea angels in my ear shells.
I slit my dualistic soul in two,
My heart is not your heart,
My pain is not your pain.
My love is mutual.
My hate is yours.

Description
Searching in the vanity garden
you chose the wrong flower,
Bittersweet scent of a ripe blue rose
Slowly lulls me into sleep,
Leaving the shadows of my worries
wander on the walls in solitude.

I listen to recordings of your voice,
long time dead:
“Remember, darling, you are not alone.
Right now, at this very moment,
someone else is sharing your pain with you.
One ache for two.
Different circumstances,
But hurting all the same.
The sinister unison of suffering.
Between me and you. “

Living dead is the reflection in the mirror,
My eyes, but not my soul behind.
My soul, a tiny moth,
flies to the ruby light radiating from your eyes.
And gets burned.
Not your fault. We share the eyes.

The moth seeks death as it flies between my feet,
Bloody pointe shoes,
We waltz the dance of the dead.
Hitting back against the wall,
To kill the shadow,
To break free.
You step on the moth and crush it,
Was it the freedom I desired?

My endymion, your eyes ooze melted rubies,
You never cry, so why cry now?
The moth is dead, the mirror is broken.
Tears won’t repair the fragile things.
Tears won’t take back the assaults.

Devil never cries. So don´t you cry!
Devil laughs to the scream of death and pain.
And I keep dancing,
to the sound of the melody of the damned.
Devil waltzes with me,
till my death tears us apart.

Dancing until dawn.
The rose refusing to bloom.
The moon killed the sun.

You are the thorn in my heart,
a grain in my eye.
I try to study your face,
Like Da Vinci would study Salai´s.
The silhouette of illusion,
a spider veil covers your essence.
Like a water without a glass ,
your soul is shapeless.

But you cannot escape me this time.
Ignoring the warnings,
sung by the sea angels in my ear shells.
I slit my dualistic soul in two,
My heart is not your heart,
My pain is not your pain.
My love is mutual.
My hate is yours.