My jacket sat warm below me.
And I sat warm in my home.
The vein below her eye,
Flowed blood as if to cry,
Why?
At least she's alive.
My last love, she has died;
Not of natural cause,
But a broken heart.

So I grabbed my jacket,
For I am a dreamer.
And
I
Do
Not wish to dream of loves
Rapture.
Instead I shall witness,
horizons end,
And know it shall not follow.