You still don’t know, That each rain has its own color, You still don’t know, that each corner Has it’s own shadow. You are yet to know, ...That each single dream Is memory yet to bloom, And each remembrance, A trembling reverie.
Since you don’t know, Come, listen, behold – I love you as much As all showers that turn into seas, With all the longing of veiled specters Of all my dreams – Now mere mementos – And all budding memories yet to bloom.