It's April now and my skin is still as white
as the paper in which I whisper and write.
It hurts.
I want to see your face again.
It's summer now and my heart is still as cold
as if I'm another slave successfully sold.
It stings.
I want to hear your laugh again.
It's April now and my body is still as stiff
as a branch of a tree below a mountain cliff.
It burns.
I want to be with you again.
It's summer now yet it's winter in my soul
as if I know how winter feels, I'm a fool.
But it's cool.
I just want to see your face again.