When love declines
the heart grows cold
It becomes the moonlight
that chills the soul

Polished like marble
with all of its frills
It withers away
Attemptable to ****

What cold singing
from frigid lips
When the heart grows weary
From the vice of life's grips

When prayers become weeds
Scattered by wind
Left with nothing
But the hollow within

May your grateful heart
Be filled with laughter, joy,
And the magic of each new day.
May the spirit of wisdom
Color your life through many years
Just as the mountains and the oceans
Cover our wonder-filled earth.
May your grateful heart be full.

And
I’ll never be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I will never hide my chickenpox,
Grind me to sand, and I'll shout to the wind,
Wash me! Wash me away!

I’ll never pretend that I am pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,
I’ll let my skin dry like the Atacama desert,
I’ll let the harsh mountain storm bite my face,
The eagles eat my flesh on the tower of silence, so
There is nothing left to dream about,
Not even bone dust for the rain,

I’ll fight like gladiators, not to be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I won’t let the clouds overshadow my scalp,
I’ll pull right now, one by one, every hair follicle,

What you ask me to be is not beauty, it is a butterfly
That flies and flies around a light bulb
Until it dies

A shadow that weaves white nights,
I will not invent myself to be pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,

If you wish to enter my blood,
You have to swim in the imperishable waters,