I do not cry often but my heart is bleeding
Confusion is there, I do not want my own feeling
You are a riddle, all I have is a pen,
I give you my handwriting, I am not like other men.
I offer you gardens, a palace and castles
All you must do is examine my soul
Have some luck as you start, if you start,
I am the dart, though want to be your target.
My lips move not much but I speak a lot
You can hear me if you wish
Be my ink, the fuel I need,
I can be your paper, yellowing by day.