So, it came as no surprise,
that I got caught in your lies.
You played my heart like a toy
then crushed, with sickening joy.
Everybody around knew…
You never loved me, did you?

Can you hear the buzz in the air—
the electric charge? See a flare
lighten up the roadway to your death?
Are you ready to take your last breath?
No? What a dull, boring affair...
Get out of the way, far from here!

It hurts, my love.

It hurts, my love; I’m filled with sorrow.

While you are here (close but miles and miles away),

what can I say to change your mind so you’d stay?

Don’t go, my love…

Don’t go, my love, where I can’t follow.

Let’s think together of some other way. Stay.

In the night, I pretend to feel warmth
of your body and hands, big and strong,
wishing not to wake up, not to feel
this cold absence of you (too real).
I escape to the fantasy—
—stop,
loose myself in the ecstasy—
—don't!
Would you think of me less if you knew
that I wish to not see morning dew?
But the sun will come out anyway,
painting all of my dreams with cold grey...
After making another mistake,
I sit here, on our bed, wide awake.
Slender body beside is not yours.
I'm not fooled: It's not love – it's remorse.

Here, I crumble in this morning light,
feeling all the effects of last night.
He'll wake up and pick up all his stuff,
look at me and breathe out: "that's enough."
He will leave; there isn't much I can give
to him now, as your absence I grieve.
One day, maybe, I'll see him for him,
Embrace on purpose — not on a whim.
Would you deem me a cheat if I flee
to his arms and pretend to be free
from this loss, maybe learning to heal?
Would you blame me for wanting to feel
his—another man's—warmth in our bed
that hasn't been warm at all since you left?

Don’t come near!
I’m talking to you, you hear?
I’m no longer your purposeless teacher.
Here before you now stands a graceless dangerous treacher.
Have you come here to fight, my dearest pupils?
Here, now, I have no scruples—
Fools! Prepare!

Behind,
the season of snows and sorrows.
Bygone are its long frozen nights.

Spring brings
the promise of brighter morrows
and wonder to everyday sights.

I watch
as beautiful cherries blossom.
With them,
a light in my heart ignites.

Call my name,
see the ghost of the past I became.

Of this world, I am lost in the shadow
left to feed off the old war’s debris.
It’s too big for an innocent child
that is forced to grow up, don’t you see?

In the village, I walk unnoticed –
every grownup stares right through me.
On my tasks, I try to stay focused,
while the one thing I want is to scream.

Scream out loud at the people, the street
to be heard for a second, be seen.
In this world, do I even exist?
How, a child, would I even know this?

Call my name,
bring me back to the living, again.