Don’t trust the torment!
Your soul is innocent,
But I’ll live to see that?
Do I have the power to go at?
Is it wonder the right way?
As all night on my bed I lay
Thinking, digging up the truth
I still learn the best from you,
Searching for the fountain of youth,
But exposing my true sight,
Everything has turned to white.
Sitting on the old rough carpet,
Gnawing my red pencil,
Staring at the old puppet –
Ultimate strength or tensile.
I shall enjoy this torture all,
And joy in lie I’ll hide my eyes,
I’ll imprison love before the fall,
And I’ll watch forever in empty skies.
Copyright © Ana-Maria Bituna