My senses reel with every beautiful memory of shining summer days when I see her face.
There is nothing magic about the sunrise in perspective. Hours like stones tied to my back, and I trudge up this hill of regret, trying to fulfill some penance. The venom lies spill into my ear. One more hour, one more stone, and I am breaking slowly. What balm can soothe this, for I would go beyond the sea to find such. I would lay it upon crushed velvet at your feet and cry pardon. But I have nothing, just one more hour, one more stone. I will look to the east and dream of days gone by, of your laughter sweet and the dawn, and hope that once more the star will rise.