If I'd love you more and more and more,
until my heart will become a dry fountain,
it will still not be enough for you
it will never be enough for me
for I will never see the happiness
you used to feel around me.

Our hands still not apart,
but your heart is as absent
as snow in desert.
You're writing new paragraphs between your lines,
but you've never taught me the language
your feelings speak now.

With every touch you're growing colder
the air between us is poison
you're cutting deep in my skin
with your once sweet lips.

I'm sorry darling,
but you see,
this chasm is getting too wide for me
in the darkness of this abyss I don't want to be.

I'll pack all my love in an old luggage case
new journeys awaiting, new roads ahead.

I'm sorry, sweetheart,
I hope you understand,
only by turning pages I'll ever find
paragraphs written in the language of my heart.