The winds of winter are cold.
The snowflakes fall and freeze,
upon a world that's even colder,
than the coldest winter breeze.
This world is dark and bitter,
It taught us to cut our wings,
to use people whom we should love,
and rather love all useless things.
But even snowflakes have the courage
to fall in this world, and melt,
than giving up to its coldness
and spread the warmth it never felt.
So can't you be a little sowflake,
can't you be like melting snow,
that ends a cold today
and brings a warmer tomorrow?

The night is your lullaby
that seranades you to sleep,
while for me it is the darkness
that forces me to weep.
I know you will be worried,
because my tears carry my pain,
but the drops are almost beautiful,
like the ones from clouds of rain.
But I cry because I feel,
and I feel, so I try to write
about my wounds deeper and darker,
than the quiet, melancholic night.
So I stay awake and use my ink,
for all those words I may never say.
The night may not have a sun,
but it's always a writer's day.

You'll have your share of darkness
with as much light you get,
for every moon has to rise
and every sun has to set.

Loving a flower is playing with danger,
and you must know, danger never warns,
so when you pluck me because you love me,
you forget I'm embellished with thorns.

Because you don't pluck the one's you love,
rather, you keep them alive.
So I let my love become your breaths
that filled your lungs, so you'd survive

But even love swoons into revenge,
and your love too was a fatal deed,
so watch my petals as they all wither,
but remember; my leaves helped you to breathe.

Does anyone hear to the prayers that escape their lifeless lips,
from hearts that have stopped beating after the deathly apocalypse?

Or lend an ear to the muted screams of those kids shot down with guns,
or to the roar of all the houses blown up with bombs and cannons?

Or just listen to muffled cries or look at eyes clouded with tears,
or think of the motherless child and the terror his heart bears?

But all the noise is just unheard, and what do they even they cry for?
because we believe that everything is fair; in love and in the war.

Behind the happy faces
countless secrets are being hidden
But if you look into the eyes,
you find the mystery and the poison.
So every clown wears a big smile,
yet people are scared of them,
because under a gleeful mask
is where they hide their mayhem.

You say you love all of me,
like I am your better half.
But half of the things that go through my mind
have only made you laugh.
You say you love my madness,
but your love felt just lukewarm.
While on the inside I'm a commotion;
a constant, violent storm.
You touch me with tenderness.
and I lie that I like it too,
but the truth is that I feel myself
when I am not with you,
because passion and recklessness
find a home in my soul;
so when I am set on fire
is only when I'm free and whole.

You think you love me
but you don't understand,
that method and madness
can't go hand in hand.

My heart and mind have been fighting against
since when your touch left my skin.
So now in the night, when I loose all control,
I let their battles begin.

Young love;  
It's what burns between us
with the power of a thousand flames,
what consumes our mind
and our souls.  

It's youthful, and so are we,
careless about what people might think,
what wrongs might happen,
and where we might end up
with such reckless loving.

Our hearts are young,
and so are the minds
that are devoid of the knowledge,
that what we have ignited
has consumed us enough
to burn us red.

Red;
the color of blood,
and yet the color of love.
It's full of power, full of passion.
And so is our loving.                            
Fearless as ever in each other's embrace,
we burn with the power and passion,
and together we face what we have ignited;  
our fearless, destructive,
young love.