Never has pïgeon shït landed on my shïrt
Never have ï found a four leaf clover
And not once has a ladybug landed on my fïnger
As the years go by, my luck ïs wearïng off
The goodness ïn thïs world, ïn mïne
Slowly dïsappearïng
And ï, always chasïng ït, lïke a chïld runnïng after a raïnbow
Always poïntless
For now my lïfe has been darkened
Wïth passïng black cats, broken mïrrors and spïlt salt.
But ï'll keep waïtïng for the moment when the sun wïll come out of hïdïng
When love wïll be easy agaïn
When the good wïll float to the surface and drown thïs world agaïn
Mïne, agaïn.