The heart weeps softly, showing its bruised hue.
Shadows of despair whisper, I'm following you.
Icy winds and grey clouds all around.
Not the faintest beam of light is found.

Does your night teem with sparkling stars?
Or behind the fantasies, veils deep scars?
Does your heart dwell in a city of dreams?
Or breaks into bloodcurdling screams?

To a great extent, your lips laugh.
But your heart merely does its half.
It longs for joy in a world of strife.
How peculiar is the riddle of life!

When shadows speak and the heart bleeds,
A hand of solace is all what it needs.
So, to let them pay heed to a heart's cry,
This hand will write till the ink runs dry.