I don't think I can remember
sounds of the summers's playful flute
all I can hear is deafening silence
among the memories of two.
And what has been is now forgotten
and what will be is yet unknown
and I'm so tired and so broken
of being sick, being alone.
And, hell, I know the only power
the only reason to go on
is knowing that your heart, like flower,
some day with mine will fully bloom.
But now and here is starry winter
and eyes are glittering with woe
my soul is cold and dark, with splinters,
it's hard to learn to be alone.
[Last Winter - More Than You Know]