I write about the stars and the sky,
And watch as the comets say goodbye,
Will I ever see them again, probably not,
But into dreamland they shall be caught,

When into the heavens my eyes wander,
My mind slips and begins to saunter,
The inner pool, which storms and rages,
Becomes like a book’s gently turning pages,

Oh, the lights, how they see my bare mind,
So scared, what will the clever things find?
The fears, the hopes, the clashing tempers?
Or a grey, icy day of Novembers’

No, they shall find out my inner thoughts,
The ones that I have since forever fought,
The temptations, and paradoxes that are in me,
It is impossible to name what they may be:

So frustrated, yet seeming so calm,
So passionate, and yet withdrawn,
So strong, yet arguments so weak,
So in love, yet appearing so bleak,

I wonder, if they actually know,
Those stars, do they see through my show?
But there they go, saluting their farewell,
With my secrets, none they shall tell.