In the perpetual midnight hour
of a life too long
comes a sudden pause
that takes even the most strong.

In the stars
and in the trees;
in the wildest fantasies
the rhythm of my heart
seeks to know
the reason only yours to own.

The stories of your presence
has tainted my ears;
your sweetness has left my heart in tears.
The talks travel wide,
they travel deep,
as if through sunlight,
into my darkest soul,
they do seep.

The light, it burns; it scatches and sears.
It cuts right through these sculptured bones
- out come my secrets and my fears.
And as it does the work it wants,
my mind keeps running further off.
You deserve more than this.
You deserve more than me.
But just this once I must plead...

...come to me now,
for I am ill.
Come to me now,
if only for my good will.

Alas.
In the words of birds
and in the songs of gypsies
I have looked and found none;
save for knowing: in the last and final hour,
this life and its meaning,
without your touch, will ever sour,
making my world come undone.

For there is no more a song to sing;
there is no more left for a sigh to breathe.
In the darkness of the night,
as my truest soul seeks light,
I catch the last breath and hold it near,
and think "If I don't find you soon,
the worst, I do fear".