Not all those who wander are lost, but I surely am.
Though I'm still not sure if I'm lost in this city or in the depths of your eyes.
And I'm drunk– whether it's on love or on alcohol, I'm not so sure anymore. But that's not what matters right now.
On my way of finding myself I'm actually trying to find you.
I could swim through the seven seas without exertion, but I'm drowning in your eyes just like that.
I write love letters, poems and sinfonias to you in my head, but I could never do in reality, for I don't even know your adress nor your adress.
You're the firmament above my head, when I look at the Gestirne above me I find myself gazing at your eyes.
And I wonder, I wonder, what could, should, would have been if…
And so I keep wandering, being lost, truly lost in melancholia and thoughts, wanting to get lost in your eyes; wanting to find myself in your heart, wanting to fix my broken soul with the golden love that, I hope, is awaiting me.