The rose month is coming
I am not ready to receive the guest.
Mistletoe will takeover with folded hands
wind was blowing
No star accepted the gift of burning earth.
He walked alone in the ruins to search the time of rich.
His hunger did not find the bread.
He thought he was good as a bone
in the diet of sunset on the smurfs of dew.
Innocent was the betrayal under the sheets.
Pert was the sting.
Myth stumbles out from dead souls
I am walking behind the moon
your hand was on my shoulder.
