As darkness begins to swallow,
and the light begins to fade;
As candles without oxygen,
are the breaths we no longer take.

All the yesterday's tomorrow's,
Few promises can we make;
As today's feeble winds,
are ours to not forsake.

Rebirth of spiritual soul,
as death we can't escape;
Promised are only the tomorrow's,
From the yesterday's we've now made...

Love has its color
The sweet tangerines, too
The sun shines brightly
On the trees and grass
The water was reflecting
An agapanthus growing near
A lavender in the clear.

Winter sunrise on my last and longest day,

wrap me in a winding sheet of flaming orange

take the reds and pinks from midnight blue to make my shroud

let me rest in heaven fire

drown my tired soul in colour

drinking the final carnival

warmth for my bones,

a funeral of skies and wonders