The sun rises over a lily's field, Early morning always brings the peace. "Want some coffee? Add some milk," He wants to writeβneeds paper and a strong will.
The beauty of the world he knows, Her beauty he recognises. Yet he hides the beauty, And always defines the pain.
"The world is hell," he says, And somehow, he's always right. He sees the bills, He sees the depressed minds.
Wants some money, but He's just a poet of the night. How much further will he write? How much more should he sacrifice?
Slow rain falling from her eyes, The poet is dead inside. He needs some rest nowβ He needs a goodbye.