Our voices spoke for its own,
The butterflies must bring the stories of morrow ,
lower the grief bound of sorrow ,
wasn’t a will given of torn

Shocking to fly very briefly,
Portraits to remind us of what we borrow,
to our lives that makes sunshines of yarrow,
Whites and yellows with no hollow,
What a void gives to souls flying for needy

then must shine alone in the hardest leaves,
I wondered where i left messages in the middles of pages,
Behind all this words that been given with no stages,
I had it all when it comes to believes,

What can make you worried while i am here,
Resting my eyes for a while
I got reminded of a smile,
Not the noir of paints being vile,
Then i stare at the pictures of paintings longing for ancient Greece

Dear marron why did you leave them behind?
Space had no light but for the Sun,
Now you call them your sons,
Oh I forgot you were the colours of them when they never had insides,

Pardon my weakness of expressions,
I lost my mind under that tree,
Not knowing what on did i agree,
One more chance given of lessons,

In that tile of lords you’re the broad,
The highs has surrounded you,
The colours that given no chance to true,
Did you expect now to never be told?

I gave a loud noise of condolences,
I missed when we had fire mixes of dreams,
Why is it always shoulds of what then seems,
We finally had answers of long faded streams,
History of must all be teams,
I loved to fondly to care of schemes,
I apologise for the portraits with no added greens and gleams.