I touched the Sun with my own hand,
She's cold to the core,
Her neck where my lips often visit,
Got ligature marks all over,
Her eyes that used to shine warm light,
Now dark and colder than Artic nights,
I spent no time admiring her magnificence,
And She had no stars to accompany Her,
How had I failed to see through these lenses?
That She shone dark blue throughout the year,
My life without Her presence,
A life full of fear,
Where I'm counting sheeps all night,
Reading storybooks and folklore,
And cry as I try to fight,
The fact that dawn will arrive no more,
I know my tears won't restore Her flame,
But I'll weep still for I am the one to blame.