It's my song, it's my melody,
The tunes that binds us all in endless shades of turquoise grace,
Like birds in an iron cage,
Whimpering to be let free,
When they know they are content deep inside.
I could be with a person,
Or rather become a person,
But is life all beauty and glee?
I'd say not with a broken heart.
I'd say not with a little bit of melancholy,
I have seen through losing and breaking down,
And regaining my love and my fury.
I was the man who stood beside,
When the starry nights were passing by,
When not a single star shone for you,
Shadowed by the pale moonlight.
I said my prayer the lonely night,
When I was haunted so much by my own thoughts,
I could stuff a million tales of agony and pain inside my head,
But those which were so much of my own.
We live and we write to be original, don't we?
But don't we end up being nakedly obscure.
I wonder, father of the hourglass,
Whose side would you take?
Times or ours?
I'm tossing and turning in my sleep,
I am looking forward,
I am looking back.
I am whirling myself,
And unwinding my passions,
I am putting up the curtains of my downy heart,
I'm looking up the sky,
And I get to thinking.
Is this my own version of the tune?
With the war and a restart every second?